The 'Don't I Know Your Brother' Affair
by Avirra
Summary: Illya is missing and a call from a mystery woman offers aid but only if she can meet Napoleon in person.  April Dancer and Mark Slate join in as well. Revision completed 8/18/2011.  This is an Alternate Universe tale that doesn't fit in with the rest of my U.N.C.L.E. tales.
1. Chapter 1

**The 'Don't I Know Your Brother?' Affair – Part I**

Napoleon was scowling at the telephone on his desk. Illya, his at times almost excessively punctual partner, was more than two hours late getting to work. Worse, Illya had just flown back from an assignment lending a hand to the Paris branch last night and from all appearances, had never made it out of the airport. Napoleon was still holding out the hope that the wily Russian had spotted something suspicious and altered his expected route. But even if that had been the case. he would have expected Illya to be here first thing. Or at least call to let them know what was going on. Hence his dirty looks in the direction of his telephone.

Then, the intercom and a demand for him to report to Mister Waverly's office on the double. That mixed with the empty chair in the office gave him a sinking feeling as he got to his superior's office as quickly as he could without running. The tense look on the face of Miss Rogers, Mister Waverly's secretary, was all that was needed to send him into the office without knocking.

Mister Waverly waved Napoleon over with the hand holding his briar pipe as he spoke to the speaker on his desk.

"Mister Solo is present. Please begin again if you would so that he can hear what you have to say."

"Certainly, sir. My apologies for the rather melodramatic call, but I believe you have an agent missing."

Napoleon frowned a bit. The voice was firm, female and delicately accented with British tones as well as a hint of Russian. Not a voice he recognized though. He realized that Mister Waverly had been watching his face to see if there was any recognition before he spoke again.

"Might I ask you how you got this number?"

"From Ill… Mister Kuryakin. While I don't have all of the details, I can explain what has happened, sir. But not over the phone. I would prefer to meet Mister Solo face to face for this. In person, I can prove to him what I am saying is the truth."

The two men exchanged a glance. Napoleon pointed to the speaker, then to himself and Waverly nodded his approval.

"Can't we speak with Mister Kuryakin directly?"

"I sincerely wish that you could. However, he can only speak to you through me for now."

"And how are we to know that this isn't a trap?"

"If you are not comfortable meeting me alone, Mister Solo, I could also accept the presence of Agents Dancer and Slate."

Mister Waverly's eyes narrowed and Napoleon winced internally for his partner. Not only did this woman have Waverly's name and number, but the names of at least four of his agents. Illya would be lucky not to be shipped back behind the Iron Curtain. His voice had an edge of ice as he spoke again.

"Agreed. Noon. Pier 25. How will we know you?"

"I will know you."

The click ended any other question. Though Napoleon might have bet money that it wasn't possible, Mister Waverly's scowl grew deeper.

"Miss Rogers. Contact Agents Dancer and Slate. Tell them to report to Mister Solo's office immediately."

His eyes then fixed on Napoleon.

"I don't believe that I need to tell you that Mister Kuryakin had best have a very, very good explanation for all of this. Report back to me as soon as the meeting had been concluded. And if at all possible. I want this woman brought in for debriefing to see what other information Mister Kuryakin might have given her."

"Yes sir."

Napoleon exited quickly before Waverly decided to ask for Illya's head on pike. Mark and April were already at his office by the time he got there himself. Closing the door, Napoleon quickly filled them in on what little he knew.

Mark let out a low whistle.

"I'm surprised the old man's pipe didn't burst into flame from the heat he was putting out."

Shaking her head, April leaned forward in her chair.

"There's something very wrong. I can't imagine Illya giving out that much correct information even under torture. And you're sure you didn't recognize the voice?"

"Yes, I'm positive I didn't recognize the voice, but at the same time? There was something that struck me as familiar. Her accent reminded me of Illya's. That British with Russian undertones."

"Hold on... do you think that T.H.R.U.S.H. managed to get their hands on one of Illya's relatives?"

"I wish I knew, Mark. Hopefully we'll get some answers in about an hour. April and I will be out and obvious. I want you ready as backup. Now, let's get going. I want a good look over the area before the meet."

It was decided that Mark would drive himself to the area so that he wouldn't be seen with Napoleon and April. It was still half an hour until the appointed time as April took Napoleon's arm and they began to stroll.

"Quite the variety of people out here. Other than female, no clue what our mystery lady looks like?"

"Nothing. Not age, not height, not hair color. She said she'd know us."

"You'd about stand out in this group by not standing out. Pink hair, mini-skirts. And there's a woman that looks like she could be Twiggy's older sister."

Napoleon gave a glance over to the thin woman wearing a diagonally striped yellow and black mini dress as well as a vibrant yellow floppy hat.

"Yes, very stylish, I'm sure. But I prefer a woman with a bit more meat on her bones."

It was almost as if the woman heard them, because her eyes suddenly fixed on Napoleon and she started over. April frowned a bit.

"Turn off the Solo charm, dear. We don't have enough leeway in time for you to add to your little black book."

Napoleon was about to make a remark back to April when the woman stopped suddenly about ten feet from them. Holding up the brim of her floppy hat, she began to look around, stopping after a short search. April followed the woman's line of vision and froze, giving Napoleon's arm a squeeze to signal him. The woman was looking directly to where Mark had positioned himself.

The woman quirked a smile noting April's expression, dropped her hand down from the brim of her hat and carefully moved closer. There was something about the woman's stride that was off. Napoleon frowned a bit. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that wasn't exactly right.

"Early. Must be April's influence. Can we please go somewhere a bit less open? I do not know if I was followed. I do not think I was, but this dress would be hard for them to miss even at a distance."

"Then why did you wear it? And you can call me Miss Dancer. You are?"

The face, still in shadow from the brim of the floppy hat, turned toward her and April got the slightly annoying sensation that the woman was a bit amused by what she'd said. The tone of the woman's voice confirmed that amusement, though the voice also had a languid quality to it. As if the woman were bored – or possibly exhausted.

"I was not given a choice. It was wear this or nothing...Miss Dancer. And... and you would not believe me."

The woman looked up and they got their first decent look at her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes had the same icy blue tone as Illya's. That struck them about the same time. It also struck them that she was looking slightly ill and not quite steady on her feet. Napoleon was immediately concerned - this was possibly his only lead to finding his partner. He offered her a hand. Maybe that was what had been off on the woman's walk?

"Let's go sit you down out of the sun. Then we'll have a long talk."

After a hesitation, the hand was accepted and he could feel the tremor running though her body, but he could also feel the firm muscles beneath that soft skin. This was not a hand unused to work.

"Sorry... sorry. I do not know exactly what they did to me, but the side effects are many."

April gave Mark the signal to join them, then the four of them walked like two couples heading for lunch, the thin blonde keeping a tight hold on Napoleon's arm for more than just the sake of appearance. All three agents were looking for signs of a trick, but if the woman wasn't really weak, she was an actress that belonged on Broadway. Napoleon led the group to a place he knew of nearby where for a few dollars slipped to the bartender, they could get a little privacy along with a cool drink.

Once in the back room, the woman accepted both a chair and a drink gratefully. Even the little matters of how she sat in the chair and how she picked up the drink were striking Napoleon as wrong somehow. All of these little nagging inconsistencies weren't helping his impatience in the least. Napoleon didn't wait for her to set the glass back down to start his questioning.

"Now, let's get down to this, shall we? You requested to see me face to face to explain this, so start explaining. I want my partner back."

"I am not quite sure where to begin, but believe me, I want you to have your partner back more than you do."

"I doubt that."

The woman took a long drink, eyes flickering briefly from Mark to April before focusing on Solo.

"Tovarich... I **am** you partner."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

Napoleon automatically pulled back further from the woman while April and Mark scowled at her.

"Now see here, Miss, I don't know what kind of scam you're trying to pull, but none of us think it's a bit funny."

"On that point at least, Mister Slate, we are in full agreement. I also do not think it is a bit funny."

"Assuming that you're sincere, why this meeting? Why not come out and tell Mister Waverly what happened?"

"Oh yes - I could see how **that** conversation would have gone, Miss Dancer. '_Oh yes, Mister Waverly. This is Mister Kuryakin. Yes, I know I sound more like Miss Kuryakin, but you must believe me.' _I had hoped that if we met in person, I would be able to find some way to convince you... but I must admit that I am drawing a blank on how to do that. They took everything from me. Clothes, communicator, my passport, my money, my gun. Even my keys."

As she ran a hand through her hair, Napoleon mused that the cut was actually shorter than Illya normally wore his, though the color was the same.

"The crazy T.H.R.U.S.H. doctor gave me this to wear, blindfolded me for the drive and threw me out onto a New York sidewalk. I couldn't very well have just shown up at work. I'd have been made a guest of the psychiatric unit. Permanently. Chyort voz'mi! This is all so... impossible. Even I do not believe it. Part of me was hoping I was having a hallucination and seeing you would snap me out of it. "

The woman slumped back in her chair, scowling, her hand going to her face in an unconscious way that caught Napoleon's attention immediately. He knew Illya - in some ways, better than Illya knew himself. And that reaction? Was pure Illya. His mind flicked back to another 'impossible' situation that had happened not so long ago.

"Give me your right hand."

The woman looked puzzled, but offered over her hand. Mark exchanged a look with April as he tried to defuse the almost visible tension with a quip that fell fairly flat.

"Take up palm reading in-between missions, Napoleon?"

"Not quite."

Napoleon searched the back of the woman's hand quietly, then looked her in the eyes while keeping a firm grip on the hand.

"You and I are going to exchange questions. If you can answer mine, I'll believe you're actually Illya, no matter how impossible that sounds to me. If I answer yours, you believe me about a certain instance of looking into your subconscious, no matter how impossible that sounds to you. Now - there's a faint scar here on the back of your hand. What made it?"

"It is from a dog bite... wait. How did..?"

"I watched it happen. Ask me a **real** question back."

The woman's expression went from incredulous to thoughtful. She gave a long look to Napoleon's hand holding her own, then locked eye contact with him.

"Was it only one dog?"

"No. There were three dogs. Why did they attack you?"

"I had food. They took it from me. Where did I steal the food from?"

Napoleon's voice got softer.

"You didn't steal it and it wasn't food. It was rotted, insect infested meat from a trash heap. It **is **you."

"And you were not just tugging my arm about looking into my memories."

"That's 'pulling my leg', tovarich."

Illya's tension eased with that word. April and Mark were still catching up.

"Whoa… this really is Illya?"

Napoleon just nodded, eyes still locked on his partner's. When he looked only at the eyes and nothing else, he had not a sliver of doubt.

"I'd swear to it on Waverly's favorite briar. Illya… what happened?"

"That is a question I wish I could answer better. I had gotten off my flight and was waiting for my bag when I noticed a woman watching me. Attractive enough, I suppose, but something about her made my flesh crawl…"

Napoleon took a sharp intake of breath that caught Illya's attention and she stopped, looking at him questioningly.

"Please tell me this woman didn't have red hair and curls."

"Alright, I will not tell you. Since you already seem to know."

Napoleon let out a curse under his breath, then turned to Mark and April – who still looked a bit lost.

"I know you don't know the full details, but Illya and I took out a T.H.R.U.S.H. lab last year. The one person that got away was their sadistic mad-scientist pretending to be a doctor."

"Let me guess. Attractive, but creepy, woman with curly red hair."

"Right on the money, April. Go on, Illya."

"There is not much else to tell. I went with my gut reaction and tried to avoid the woman, but she had confederates waiting for me. I felt a sting… then when I woke up inside of some sort of machine. I was reminded of pictures I have seen of an iron lung, only all of me was inside of the chamber. I was wearing nothing but the straps that were holding me in place, so it was obvious that I had gone through... a few changes."

Mark suddenly leaned forward. He couldn't wrap his head around what had happened to Illya after his capture, but something about the capture itself had hit him,

"They were expecting you. Who knew your flight times?"

Illya's eyes moved to study Mark thoughtfully.

"With everything else happening, I had not stopped to think…. no-one but Napoleon and Mister Waverly. I had not made advance reservations; I just went when my mission was complete and caught the next available flight. I suppose the agent that drove me to the airport could have noticed it easily enough as well. He did not leave until he made sure I could get a seat."

"Mates – sounds like we have someone that's passing along useful tips to the enemy. How else would they have known to be lying in wait for our boy… girl here?"

Illya's blue eyes dropped to sub-zero temperatures and gave Mark a chill even though he knew the cold wasn't directed at him.

"Mark is right. We have a bigger problem. We have a traitor in our ranks."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

April laid her hand firmly down on the center of the table.

"Alright then. We four have to close ranks. And we need to get Mister Waverly in on the loop. Before you say a word, Illya, yes – I know it might be a hard sell, but if we can't convince him that you're you, we've no way of proving there's a turncoat in the Paris bureau. I suppose they took my shoes as well?"

Illya gave a short laugh, then stopped and smirked.

"It is going to take me some time to quit wanting to look behind me to see who the woman laughing is. I do not sound like I should sound. But no, the shoes I picked up for you are still in my luggage. Which I suppose is still at the airport. So they at least are safe."

"You went shopping?"

Illya just shrugged at the look Napoleon was giving him.

"The problem I was called in on was nothing really, but I stayed long enough to do some verification tests. Since standing there to watch the tests run was both boring and unnecessary – and since April had requested I pick up the shoes she had ordered if I had the opportunity – I picked them up while having lunch."

There was a wistful tone when she mentioned lunch that brought a crooked smile to Napoleon's face.

"Let me guess. You're hungry."

"When am I not? But I think I have reason. I haven't eaten since I left Paris. The mystery substance they attempted to serve in place of food on the plane does not count."

"But you ate it."

"Of course I ate it. When have you known me to waste food?"

"Never, tovarich, never. Alright then, order of business as follows. We grab a bite, then go as a group to headquarters and hope Mister Waverly doesn't try to toss all of us into the psych ward."

"Why don't you and Illya go grab that bite while April and I hit the airport long enough to retrieve Illya's bag? That way he'll have at least some of his things with him... her..."

April didn't argue as Illya looked grateful at the suggestion, but as they headed off, she gave Mark a sharp poke.

"You know very well we haven't eaten lunch either. Why the insistance on the trip to the airport now?"

Mark just gestured to the car, so she waited until they were on the road to repeat her question.

"I really just wanted a chance to talk to you alone, April. And.. to ask you a favor. Please don't leave me alone with Illya until all this is sorted out."

"Honestly, Mark, if you don't trust Napoleon that she really is Illya, you should have spoken up immediately. You know Waverly will sniff out any doubts we have."

"Oh…. no. That's not it at all. No."

Then April glanced over and noted her partner had a blush akin to a sunburn.

"You aren't… you are! You've taken a fancy to Illya as a bird, haven't you?"

The blush only got brighter.

"Well, she's .. he's… oh bloody hell. April, please? Just stick with me so I don't forget and make an absolute fool out of myself. The last thing I want is for when he changes back is for me trying to imagine him with his dress off…. oh hell. That sounded all wrong."

April had broken into a most unhelpful case of the snickers, but finally caught her breath enough to respond to her now glowering partner.

"Fear not, my dear. I will attempt to preserve both of your virtues. Which is going to be quite the feat as I'm not terribly sure either of you are still virtuous."

Mark's expression shifted and he suddenly pulled off the road, stopping the car. April was lost as to what was going on.

"Mark? I didn't mean to upset you, dear. Of course I believe your virtue's intact."

He just made an impatient gesture that April recognized well enough to drop all joking immediately.

"Spill it, Mark - what just hit you?"

"What Illya said - that the problem he was called in on was nothing much. What if the whole thing was a set-up? How better to make sure you only needed to deal with one member of the team supreme?"

"Good lord, I think you're onto something, Mark. Come on. Let's go liberate that bag from the airport and get back to toss that into the community think pot."

Meanwhile, across town, Napoleon was holding the door for Illya to enter an Italian restaurant that was a favorite. Illya couldn't help a slight smirk as she commented under her breath,

"Always the perfect gentleman, eh Napoleon?"

Napoleon had a smile on his face that never wavered even as he shot back.

"I have a reputation to maintain, chum. And yes, that means making my manners match your appearance."

"Napoleon! You are earlier than usual, my friend."

Smiling, Napoleon went to greet the owner who had spotted their entrance with a few light jokes and a good bit of back-slapping.

"Couldn't wait for evening, Ercole. The lady says she's starving, so bring her out a large plate of whatever you recommend."

Ercole looked at the thin woman, but didn't question the size of the order. Instead, he turned his smile and his welcome onto her,

"Welcome, welcome! My grandmother, rest her soul, would come back and beat me with a spoon were I to allow a lady to go hungry. Come, I will show you immediately to a table, Miss..?"

"Illyana. And thank you. Napoleon has said so many glowing things about your food that I cannot wait to try it."

Practically puffed out with pride, Ercole hurried back to the kitchen after seating them. Once he was out of earshot, Napoleon leaned over a little closer to his partner.

"Illyana? Oh - and nice job of buttering up Ercole."

Illyana just gave a careless shrug - which disconcerted Napoleon a bit because it came off looking so damn cute. He didn't usually associate the word 'cute' with Illya.

"I am bit preoccupied, so I thought it might be best to stick with a name that was close enough to my own so that I would remember to respond to it. As to the rest? Just making my manners match your appearance."

Chuckling, Napoleon looked up in time to see Ercole emerging with a platter of food that looked heaped to feed a family of four. One of his sons trailed behind him carrying a vintage of wine that Napoleon approved of whole-heartedly. At Napoleon's invitation, Ercole took a seat at the table, pouring the wine for them all.

Illyana maintained her perfect manners, but focused the majority of her attention on making the food disappear. Sipping on his wine, Napoleon just smiled. The outer frame might be different, but Illya's appetite certainly hadn't changed.

Watching the woman putting away large quantities of his food with obvious enjoyment delighted Ercole to no end and he began to speak to Napoleon in Italian.

_"Now there - there, my friend, is a real woman. My grandfather, rest his soul, always told me that a woman who is enthusiastic at the table is equally ethusiastic in bed."_

Napoleon, who had the misfortune of being in the process of taking a drink at the time, very nearly choked on the mouthful of wine. Looking over to Illya, he noticed his partner was maintaining a straight face, but those blue eyes were practically dancing with mischief. Swallowing, she smiled over to Ercole and spoke in fluent Italian.

_"I take that as a compliment. You see, Napoleon? I would make a good wife."_

With a glance upward, Napoleon thanked whatever power was looking down on him that he hadn't had taken another drink yet - he would have spewed it. For his part, Ercole was practically falling over himself apologizing when 'Illyana' gave that little laugh again.

_"Please, no. There is no need to apologize. Your grandfather was a very wise man."_

As the two men conjectured silently to themselves about the implications of that statement, Illyana was left to continue the meal in quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**

A quick contact via their communicators led April and Mark to the restaurant that the other two agents were at. When Napoleon told Ercole that two more of his friends were going to be joining them, he went to the front to greet them himself.

"Are you Mister Slate and Miss Dancer? Ah good... come in, come in and be welcome. You are as lovely as Napoleon said you would be, Miss Dancer. Please allow me to show you to his table. He and Miss Illyana are expecting you."

The two of them kept up appearances until Ercole turned to lead the way, at which time April mouthed _'Illyana?' _to Mark. His shrug was essentially the response of_ 'oh why not?' _in return. When they reached the table, they were perfectly in their roles for Ercole's benefit - one couple meeting another couple for a meal and some catching up. April gave a bemused look to the size of the now near empty plate near Illyana. It was harder for her to keep a straight face while Mark seated himself as far away from the blonde as the table allowed.

Still, April was determined to save her partner from himself, so when Illyana seemed to slow her food intake a bit, April reached over and laid a hand on her arm.

"There's a couple of questions that occurred to me that I'd like to take up with you. Why don't you and I go powder our noses for a bit and have a little girl talk while the boys think of the best way to break all of this to our dear Uncle? Mark, be a dear and order us something for a quick lunch. You know what I like."

Illyana went along, a bit bemused by the whole 'powdering the nose' thing to the point that she had to ask once the door shut behind them.

"Alright, I have to admit to being new to all of these feminine routines, but why powdering noses?"

"Beats me. I suppose it might have something to do with them calling the bathroom a powder room. Of course, the nickname might have come from the powdering nose bit instead of the other way around... oh bother. It isn't the oddities of the English language that I wanted to discuss with you, dear. I know everything must have been terribly disorienting for you, Illya love... but can you remember anything our insane female doctor said to you? Any exact wording?"

"It is rather like trying to see the bottom of a river bed through muddy water, but I can try if you think it is so important. Remember please that I was inside the metal capsule most of the time – I could only hear her clearly when she was right beside of it. "

Sitting down on the small couch in the room, Illyana closed her eyes and tried to imagine being back with the red-haired witch. In the back of her mind, she wondered why the men's room didn't have couches, but decided that question could wait for another time. April leaned back against the sinks, watching as the woman's brow furrowed in concentration.

"She seemed…. obsessive? I can remember more her emotions than her words, but she kept speaking of paying back and breaking up Napoleon and myself."

"Break up? Those are the words she used?"

"Yes. She used those two words loudly enough that I can be certain of them. Thinking back, I do not think she did this on T.H.R.U.S.H. orders. That was another of her repeated themes – showing them. A lot of ranting about not being appreciated. Plus generally when T.H.R.U.S.H. Central wants to break up a team, killing one partner is more their style. Not that I am not pleased with being alive, of course, but she seems more bent on personal goals than world conquest."

The huge smile on April's face was confusing. Her grabbing Illyana into a hug and kissing her didn't clarify anything either.

"April my darling, as much as I have had many pleasant dreams of your kisses, this has never been one of the scenarios."

"Oops – sorry, love. Heat of the moment and all. I think I know what bait we can use to draw out our mad genius, but it will require the cooperation of Mister Waverly. Let's go see if the boys have decided the best approach to contacting him."

Mark had filled Napoleon in on his suspicions while they were alone. Napoleon was unconsciously swirling what was left of the wine in his glass while listening.

"If you're right, Mark, that makes this situation far worse. Having someone at one of our bureaus passing along intelligence isn't good, of course. But having someone inside with the ability to manipulate us in T.H.R.U.S.H.'s favor? April's right. Time to get Mister Waverly in on all of this."

"Of course – April is always right."

She was grinning as she came back to the table in time to remark on his comment.

"Best ring him up now, Napoleon. At least give him a heads up that we're coming with company."

Nodding, Napoleon shifted in his seat a bit to block the view of anyone casually entering the room.

"Open Channel D."

It wasn't long before Mister Waverly's voice came back over the communicator.

"Mister Solo. Did the meeting go well?"

"Yes sir, but there is a complication that I think you need to be briefed on immediately. Request permission to bring the woman that contacted us to your office, sir. You should hear what she has to say directly."

"I see. Is Miss Dancer there with you and of the same opinion?"

April moved closer at Napoleon's signal.

"Agent Dancer here, sir. And yes – I really think that would be the best option."

They could practically hear his frown over the connection.

"Very well then. I will expect you in one hour. Waverly out."

"Onward into the lion's den."

Napoleon grinned at that as he tucked his communicator pen back away, then reached over to lay a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"At least you've had a good meal first. Let's go. This is going to be hard enough without annoying him by being late."

Going through the Del Floria's entrance would have caused too many problems and it was still too early to enter through the Mask Club, so that left the 'charity' office entrance. They didn't have to pass by many other U.N.C.L.E. employees on their way to Waverly's office, but the ones they did were speculating about the blonde woman in their wake.

Miss Rogers stared a bit but buzzed them straight through to the main office. Illyana took a deep breath and marched in much as normal. Mister Waverly looked up from the paper he was reading as the four walked in, then looked back down to the article he had been reading as he spoke.

"Ah, Mister Kuryakin – about time you decided to join us today. You have a great deal of explaining to do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V**

It was the prolonged stunned silence from the four agents that drew Mister Waverly's attention back up. This time, he took a longer, closer look, then he picked up a small set of papers, ripping them in two.

"Miss Rogers will be pleased, Mister Kuryakin. I do believe I might have gotten a cold shoulder for a few days if I had ended up giving you this Section Eight, Antarctica field station transfer that she typed up for me. Please do close your collective mouths and be seated. It appears we have a good deal to discuss."

Napoleon found his voice first.

"Sir… how did..?"

Their boss just gave them all an exasperated look – he was getting a lot of use out of that expression on this particular day. Then with a sigh, he began to refill his pipe.

"In case it has escaped all of your attention, we are a covert agency. Our people go around in disguises as much as they go around looking as themselves. I learned long ago to identify my people by their body language more than by their faces. While Mister Kuryakin is adept in adopting other mannerisms, he was not trying to disguise his body language when you all entered and that was what I went by. And I must add, Mister Kuryakin, that I think it's a bit peculiar to wait until you're a woman to finally get your hair cut to an acceptable length."

Illyana's words were more clipped than her hair.

"T.H.R.U.S.H. stylists, sir. I cannot say that I recommend them."

"Hmmm – quite so, quite so."

Waverly took a moment to light his pipe, studying Illyana the entire time. Once it was going to his satisfaction, he shifted his gaze to Napoleon.

"Now, since it is easier to get a comprehensive story if only one person is making the report, I will ask you to give me a rundown of what happened so far as is known at this time."

"Yes sir. As you already know, Illya finished his mission in Paris and booked a flight back as he informed us. When he arrived, the T.H.R.U.S.H. doctor that we encountered last year was there waiting for him with some associates. Illya had never seen her face, but his instincts warned him off of her. Unfortunately her backup intercepted him and hit him with some sort of knockout agent before he could get word to us or exit the airport."

"When he woke, he was already in his... her current condition inside of an unknown machine – presumably of the doctor's invention. The doctor gave her the clothes she's currently in, blindfolded her and had her brought to New York and thrown out on the sidewalk. With no identification, money or communicator, he decided to call your office number and trusted that if we met face to face, the whole identity problem would be able to be sorted out."

"I see. Well, Mister Kuryakin, I think that given the circumstance you found yourself in, you proceeded in a commendable fashion and kept your head better than most would. Not exactly a situation we train our agents to deal with, after all."

Waverly tapped the bowl of the pipe in his mouth thoughtfully.

"For the duration of this probkem, you might wish to start adjusting your body posture accordingly. Some of your movements are markedly in contrast to your current appearance. Of course, the real problem now being what is next."

Napoleon felt like smacking himself in the head. So that was what had been bothering him about Illyana. Walking, sitting, even drinking – the movements had all had a more masculine edge to them that he must have noted subconsciously. He took a deep breath before continuing. Time to broach the other problem.

"It goes deeper than that, sir. Mister Slate believes we have a traitor in our ranks. No-one, not even Illya, knew when he was coming back until he actually purchased his ticket. Yet they were there, ready and waiting. He is also of the opinion that the whole trip to Paris might have been a setup, and I can't find fault with any of his reasoning."

Waverly took the pipe from his mouth and held it in his hand, studying the bowl of the briar pipe as if he could read answers from its lines.

"Sound reasoning for more than you know, Mister Slate. Mister Kuryakin was requested by name to lend a hand. And the Paris bureau also took on all of his travel expenses. We cannot even eliminate the possibility that we have a traitor is in our offices. After all, if someone from the New York headquarters contacted the Paris bureau and asked for Mister Kuryakin's flight number, why would they hesitate to give that information over?"

"Also, someone from here could have been the one to suggest Mister Kuryakin to the Paris bureau in the first place. These waters may be far deeper than they first appeared. We must draw out this doctor and locate her web."

April laid a sympathetic hand on Illyana's arm and then softly cleared her throat.

"I might have an idea that direction, Mister Waverly. We don't believe the doctor was following out T.H.R.U.S.H. orders when she kidnapped then released Illya. If for no other reason than capture and release has never been their style. I think she has some of vendetta in mind. And I think it's against Napoleon."

"Me? How do you figure that?"

"If the vendetta had been against Illya, why release him? Is it possible that she lays the blame on you for her last lab going blooey?"

Napoleon gave a glance over to Mister Waverly, then nodded.

"Not only possible, but probable. She wouldn't have thought Illya capable of helping with any of the destruction of it."

Mark tsked.

"That's the trouble with mad scientists. They take their labs being blown up so personally when it's really just part of the job."

Elbowing her partner sharply in the ribs, April continued.

"But honestly, I don't think her motivation matters so much as her method. She seems determined to split the two of you apart. Illya said she often returned to her wanting to break the two of you apart, so I daresay it wouldn't sit well with her at all if her actions caused the opposite effect."

"Ah.. I think I see what you are getting at, Miss Dancer. If Mister Solo and Mist... Miss Kuryakin seemed closer than ever, it might make her reveal herself. We do need that. Despite our best efforts, we still have not even been able to pin a name on our mysterious doctor. But if we have an in-house problem, so to speak, we don't want Miss Kuryakin's condition to become common knowledge."

Illyana debated briefly mentioning that, as a woman, the last name should be shifted to Kuryakina. But in the end, not bringing it up at all seemed best. It was bad enough adjusting to responding to a different first name. Not to mention the probable problems of getting his co-workers to come close to pronouncing the name correctly. Some of them hadn't managed Illya even with months of practice. Why invite another aggravation into a situation already full of them?

Still rubbing his ribs from where April elbowed him, Mark spoke up again.

"Actually, sir, I believe I can offer up a cover story. Right now, only those of us here, the doctor and her people know the truth about Miss Kuryakin. Now, Illya's never been the chatty sort about his family, so it might be a surprise, but not a shock for folks to find out he's got a twin. Especially if Illyana here was also a covert operative working in Russia."

Mister Waverly actually began to smile slightly.

"I believe I see where you're going with this, Mister Slate. And I have a close associate in the Russia bureau whom I am sure would be very willing to lend us a hand in flushing out our traitor or traitors. He lost his own partner to a leak back in his younger days and is known for being ruthless in dealing with turncoats. Very well - Mister Kuryakin has returned to Russia for a temporary assignment. Something to do with the need for someone fluent in both one of the obscure languages he seems to excel in as well as Russian. We get Miss Kuryakin in exchange who needs more familiarity with Western operations and who better to pair her with..."

"Than me. Sorry for the interruption, sir."

There was a smile on Napoleon's face again as he met Illyana's eyes across the table, noting the half-smile in return followed by a nod.

"Yes, well... Miss Dancer. I want you to take Miss Kuryakin here under you wing if you don't mind. I'll alert accounting to give you an expense allotment so that you can purchase some more appropriate street wear for our visiting agent. We also need to get a weapon and communicator issued out."

Waverly stopped thoughtfully, then nodded to himself before pressing his intercom for his secretary.

"Miss Rogers. I need you to interrupt your current duties and send down the information to Section Five on Miss Illyana Kuryakin. Hm? Oh, you can get the majority of the information from Mister Kuryakin's file. As I am told they are twins, I am sure all of the relevant information is the same beyond height, weight and sex. Thank you. You may also inform them that she will be down to have her picture taken for her identification card and that I don't want any delays in getting it to her. She will be partnered for now with Mister Solo, so make her clearances for building access match up to his. That will be all for now."

Turning off the intercom, Waverly leaned slightly across the table as he spoke again.

"Listen carefully - I want no variations in your stories. Mister Kuryakin was given word of his new assignment in route from Paris. He got off his plane and immediately boarded another flight to take him back across the Atlantic. Today, the three of you picked up Miss Kuryakin. You will leave here and pickup the identification card and equipment needed. Introduce Miss Kuryakin around, but no more so than you would any other new agent."

"Knowing this facility, the news will likely be common knowledge before you even exit the building. I'll be going through our communication records with a fine-tooth comb to see if anyone is spreading the word outside of our building."

"I must caution you all that drawing out our opponent might take days, weeks or even months. She waited for nearly a year before making this move, so she might not respond as quickly as we might prefer. Starting tomorrow morning, the new team of Solo/Kuryakin will be available for assignments as usual. Is that going to present any problems, Mister Solo?"

Napoleon didn't hesitate for a second.

"None, sir. Whatever form is on the outside, my partner is underneath."


	6. Chapter 6

**Part VI**

The first introduction of Illyana was to Miss Rogers. April was impressed to see that Illyana had already made subtle shifts in the way she was moving and holding herself. And also a touch amused that Illyana's Russian accent was now far more prominent than Illya's. Mister Waverly stuck his head out of his office long enough to reassure his secretary that the transfer orders had been destroyed.

"Our Russian branch required his services and gave Mister Kuryakin the impression that they'd cleared it with me first. Just a slight communications hiccup and all straightened out now, Miss Rogers. Again, good to have you with us, Miss Kuryakin."

Moving off a little with Mark as Napoleon and Illyana chatted easily with Miss Rogers, April shook her head.

"My God, Mark - I've already begun mentally thinking of them as two separate people."

"Well, that's for the best, isn't it, luv? Makes us less likely to slip up and even if we do, we can get all embarrassed and pretend it's because she reminds us so much of her brother."

"Yes, yes... but when I proposed all of that to Waverly, it didn't occur to me how hard this might be on Napoleon. I shouldn't have said anything until I spoke with them, but everything's been moving so fast."

Her partner took her hand and gave it a light pat as he smiled at her.

"If it would make you feel better, we can offer them advice. After all, we **were** U.N.C.L.E.'s first mixed-doubles partnership."

As Napoleon and Illyana departed the office, April and Mark fell in with them. Napoleon gave April an odd look when she motioned to divert them into a small conference room, but went on in and didn't question her until the door was firmly shut and locked.

"What's up with all this, April?"

She fidgeted a bit - quite unlike April's general composure.

"I just wanted to apologize for not checking with the two of you first before making my suggestion to Mister Waverly. It just dawned on me how... well, awkward this might be. The romantic aspect and all."

Napoleon seemed highly amused by her apology.

"Why on earth should it be any more awkward than any other roles we've carried off over the years? Mark - do you feel awkward with April?"

"Well, no. Can't say as I do. Then again, April's always been a beautiful woman."

Mark almost jumped out of his skin when Illyana laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a low, throaty tone near his ear.

"Oh? Does that mean that you find me beautiful as well, Mark?"

While Mark was flushing and already off-balance from that question, Napoleon reached out. He deftly spun Mark around to pull him free of Illyana's hand, smoothly dipping and kissing him firmly on the lips before allowing the man to drop into an undignified heap on the floor. Napoleon then offered his arm to Illyana, who stepped around the extremely crimson faced Mark to take it. April found she was rather gaping at the scene herself as the partners flashed her near identical Cheshire cat smiles in perfect unison.

"I think we can manage. Shall we continue our tour? If you can get your partner breathing again, that is."

Catching her own breath, April offered a hand up to Mark.

"You should have told me to keep Napoleon off of you instead, dear. Have I mentioned lately that I'm glad they're on our side?"

"Are we sure that they are?"

Brushing himself off in high embarrassment, Mark strove to regain his normal coloration as the quartet exited the room and continued to Section Five. By the time her picture was taken, they were all shocked that Illyana was starting to tell 'new' acquaintances to just call her Yana. Especially Napoleon, who knew just how much his partner despised nicknames. He couldn't question it for now though, not with others around though.

As Mister Waverly had predicted, word had gotten around fast. Agents who probably hadn't been back to Section Five since receiving their own ID cards were suddenly popping up left and right. Some even pulled Napoleon to the side slightly.

"Is that the real reason you've stuck with Illya over the years? His sister is a real doll. How did you end up with the plum assignment of showing her the ropes?"

"Rank, gentlemen, has its privileges. Besides, I promised Illya that I'd watch over her for him. And now, if you will excuse me, I think I need to effect her rescue from our fellow agents."

As he moved away, Napoleon overheard one of the others saying 'like asking a fox to babysit a hen'. Perfect. Everything according to plan.

In the meantime, Illyana was, by all indications, enjoying the attention being lavished on her thoroughly. While chatting easily and even lightly flirting with some of the agents, the icy blue eyes briefly slid over to meet April's hazel ones and practically shone with amusement. Then it struck her - Illyana was copying some of April's own mannerisms that she'd used while on missions with Illya. April was torn between feeling flattered and being embarrassed that he had been paying such close attention.

A now-recovered Mark laid his hands on her shoulders and softly chuckled near her ear. Few knew April's moves as well as he did.

"Like looking into a blonde mirror, isn't it, luv? Illya may be a shy boy, but his 'sister' is another story. I don't think we need to worry about the two of them pulling this off. That doctor's not going to know what hit her."


	7. Chapter 7

**Part VII**

"Illyana and I need to have a round of serious shopping if Mister Waverly expects you both to be mission ready by tomorrow. Would you boys like to wander off and pick us up for supper?"

Napoleon firmly vetoed that suggestion, much to Mark's chagrin.

"As much as the shopping flurry doesn't appeal, I think we should all stick close. Especially if our mad genius has crossed the line over to insane."

It turned out that despite Napoleon's claim that the trip held no interest, he ended up being the one to take the lead. Illyana being... well, Illya... gravitated to the more conservative items of a darker hue. Napoleon let her get by with a couple of pairs of pants and turtlenecks, then firmly steered his partner to brighter colors. Illyana balked, but Napoleon silenced her protests with just one line.

"We aren't dressing your brother - we're dressing you."

Illyana paused, looked at the goldenrod yellow dress he was holding out, smirked slightly and took it into the dressing room. When she came back out wearing it, Mark suddenly 'remembered' he needed to buy some more handkerchiefs and left quickly. April just shook her head and turned her attention back to Solo and Kuryakin. There always seemed to be an almost organic flow to their partnership that fascinated her. Admittedly, she also watched them to try to pick up the finer points of their trade. Who better to observe than the number one field team?

Standing in front of a mirror gazing at herself, Illyana saw Napoleon come up behind her. It felt odd as he wrapped arms around her waist and spoke softly in her ear, but she just laid her hands on top of his and listened.

"This is the woman I saw you starting to invent in Section Five. A bit like April, but with more mystery. A touch exotic. Confident, comfortable with both men and women. Not a bit shy. The doctor called Illya a wet blanket. What better way to annoy her than for what she did to liven you up?"

"The thought of annoying her... yes, that is a pleasant one. But..."

"No buts, partner mine. I have never, ever, known another agent that could carry off different personas like you. And I know for a fact that our fellow agents fell for you hook, line and sinker. Which reminds me… what was with that Yana business?"

"Oh that. That was to keep my sanity. I have known most of those agents for months - some of them for years and they still cannot pronounce 'Illya' correctly. But Illyana? Rolls off their tongues perfectly."

"You're giving them more incentive for getting it right, Miss Blue Eyes."

Laughing at the familiar eye roll, Napoleon stepped back and gave Illyana all the motivation needed for not fighting his clothing selections.

"Let's finish up your wardrobe so we can go eat."

By the time Mark rejoined them, April had approved of the selection of clothing, shoes, undergarments and accessories as adequate. Illyana started to protest April's suggestion about moving into her guest room, but Napoleon quickly squashed those objections as well.

"You can't go to your place until we get it sanitized and the locks changed. The doctor has your keys, after all. Any number of things she could have done or have had done by this time. Besides, you heard Mister Waverly tell her to take you under her wing. Don't want to get her in trouble with the boss, do you?"

Taking the heavy sigh as the concession it was, Napoleon continued on.

"So, we'll drop the two of you and this mound of packages, then we'll pick you up at seven. Just remember, you're going out on a date, not a stake-out."

"I will have it figured out by then, tovarich. And before you say it, yes, I know I have to stop using that for now."

Once at her place, April insisted that Illyana take the bathroom first and, for once, was met with no argument. Looking around as she got out of her clothes, Illyana was amused by how 'frou-frou' April's bathroom was. Ruffled curtains, shades of pink, gilded mirrors and a tub they both could have used at the same time. Glancing over the small collection of bath salts and soaps, she chose rose scents and started running the water. The last bath in Paris seemed a distant memory.

Slipping into the hot, foamy waters, Illyana took some time to get fully acquainted with this new body. All of the old familiar scars patterned her torso. The muscles of a trained athlete were still present as well, but not, she decided, to an unattractive degree. The hair was far too short for her tastes, but there was nothing to be done for that. A slight frown at her hands. She'd need to do something with her nails as well.

Illyana wasn't being idle while running all of that through her head and was finished with her bath before the water had even really begun to cool. Letting the water out and drying off vigorously, the icy blue eyes stayed at the mirror, continuing the mental evaluation. She really didn't look like the kind of woman Napoleon generally found attractive. Of course, if they were going to pretend this was serious, that might be more convincing than if she was a cookie-cutter of nearly every other woman he'd been with.

Not that cookie-cutter was an option. The need for now was to seem at home in this body, so strangely familiar and yet so foreign.

Wrapping the pink towel around herself, she left the bathroom and went to her assigned room. The cosmetics that April had included under the category of accessories were waiting on the vanity table. Illyana moved over to it, sat down and began opening the various packages to examine them.

Once April had heard the door to Illyana's room close, she took over the bathroom. The rose scent still lingered in the air as she chuckled to herself and began to run her own bath. Not caring to match, she decided on gardenia. When she emerged in her robe, still drying her hair, she moved over to the closed door and started to knock to see if Illyana needed any help. The whispers stopped her before the first knock connected. There was no-one else here, so who could Illyana be talking to?

Feeling it was better to be over cautious instead of under, April opened a panel containing one of the several guns she kept hidden around. Holding it at the ready, she quietly eased open the door and took a careful peek inside.

Illyana was applying makeup slowly with a steady hand and a critical eye, speaking to her reflection. The tone gave April the shivers. It was the same tone that she'd heard a hypnotist use. Steady, monotone.

"I am Illyana Natalya Kuryakin. My twin, Illya, is two minutes my elder and holds those two minutes over me as Napoleon holds two years over him. He is a good brother, but more prone to try to act like my father than my twin. Going our separate ways was best for both of our sanities. I have the rare opportunity to work with his partner, a man he would lay down his life for. I have been warned that he is a womanizer, but that seems more of an attractive challenge than a warning. Illya would disapprove, but that is part of the attraction. I am Illyana Natalya Kuryakin."

Feeling a bit too much like a voyeur, April hid the gun and cleared her throat. The icy blue eyes blinked, then looked over her shoulder toward April at the door.

"April. I am sorry, I did not hear you come in."

"Oh... it's nothing. Just wanted to see if you needed anything."

"No. I think I will be alright. I will yell if not. I have to get used to getting in and out of all of this myself."

"Right - be just down the hall doing my hair."

Returning the gun back to its hiding place, April headed to her own room with a thoughtful expression on her face. Illya was known for being able to pull off disguises - even some outlandish ones. Was what was going on some form of self-hypnotism? Or just rehearsing over basic 'facts' invented for the role? She glanced back over her shoulder to the closed door. For some reason, she didn't feel comfortable asking Illyana. She'd wait and ask Illya. When he got back.

Back in the room, Illyana checked over her makeup, sticking with a long held personal preference for nothing too heavy on a woman. Satisfied, the dressing process started with the silk stockings. By the time the yellow silk chiffon was settled in place, there was a whole new understanding as to why women seemed to take so long to get ready. And she didn't even have much in the way of hair to arrange.

Picking up the hat that would be going with the dress then sitting it down on the vanity top, Illyana sat back down to face the mirror, idly fingering the crystal pleating of the skirt before focusing blue eyes onto blue eyes again.

What April had witnessed wasn't any sort of self-hypnosis by any means. One thing Kuryakin had learned quickly when he started having to use other identities was that if he wasn't relatively comfortable with the image he was trying to project, no-one else believed it either. Now he needed to be at ease as a woman. The trick now was to figure out how to act this part that this body was forcing him into. Continuing to just mimic April wasn't going to cut it.

The basics were already hashed out, now it was time to fine-tune it. Mother. The various ladies of U.N.C.L.E. Ladies that had shared his bed however briefly. Even Mrs. Waverly. From each was pulled a trait, an expression, a gesture - building blocks recombined to form someone new.

Eyes closing briefly, mentally Illya slipped into the role he had created and reopened Illyana's eyes, gaving her reflection a small smile.

"I **am** Illyana Natalya Kuryakin."


	8. Chapter 8

**Part VIII**

April was putting the finishing touches on her hair when her communicator bleeped.

"Dancer here."

"Ah good, Miss Dancer. Are you at a place where you can speak freely?"

"Yes, Mister Waverly. I'm at my home with Miss Kuryakin."

"Excellent. Just some news to pass along before you four go out for the evening. There were no less than three calls that left the building concerning our Miss Kuryakin. One went to the Paris bureau - they had apparently left a request to be contacted when there was any word on Mister Kuryakin, so that may be innocent, but I think it would be safer to assume it isn't. One between agents - also possibly innocent. But the last one is definitely not right. Someone made use of Mister Solo's phone and also made use of an audio scrambler during the time that you were all in Section Five, so I believe we can safely assume the doctor is aware by now that things may not be playing out as she intended."

April started to speak when the doorbell rang. Moving to the door, she verified it was her partner and Solo before opening the door to let them in.

"Understood, Mister Waverly. Agents Slate and Solo just arrived. Any orders, sir?'

Illyana was coming out of her room with her hat in her hand as Mark was shutting the door behind him. When Mark got a side glimpse of her in that yellow dress again, he very deliberately focused his attention on April.

"Stay on alert without seeming to be on alert. We want her to continue to use her information source or sources so that we can track them down. Waverly out."

Quickly, April filled the other three in while she finished getting ready herself. Napoleon just nodded as he made use of the living room mirror to adjust his tie slightly. Then he looked to Illyana, holding his hand out to her.

"We're on stage from the second we step through that door. No turning back, partner. Are you ready for this?"

Lifting her hat and settling onto her head, Illyana just smiled and moved over, laying her hand in his. The hand felt just a bit stiff to Napoleon, but he didn't comment on it.

"I was, as you Americans say, born ready."

They were already exchanging casual small talk as they walked out of the door, seemingly continuing a conversation they'd already started inside. Mark just looked after them, shaking his head briefly before turning to offer April his arm.

"How do they do that, luv?"

"I'm not positive, Mark my dear. But I'm not ruling out telepathy yet."

The band had already started playing and a few dancers were in motion on the dance floor by the time they were shown to their table. Napoleon helped Illyana into her chair, but hesitated before sitting down himself. Looking to the dance floor, he flashed a slightly boyish grin and looked back to his partner.

"Why don't we try to build up an appetite before ordering? Are you game, Yana?"

There was a look of genuine surprise followed by a laugh.

"I cannot recall anyone ever implying my appetite was insufficient before. Yes, I am game. I take it you will insist on leading?"

There was no visible hesitation, but Napoleon could definately feel the unseen tension as he helped Illyana back up that confirmed his earlier impression.

"Yes, I insist on leading. Just relax and let me guide you. I've had my share of inexperienced dance partners before."

"I am not inexperienced. Well... I suppose I am in doing the steps backwards."

As they moved off, Mark slid a bit closer to April. He and April could very easily pull off being relatives, co-workers and chums, but lovers? He didn't think they could pull that off. Which meant, he supposed, they'd need to work on their own acting more.

"Cool as a flipping cucumber, the both of them. I'm not even the target and I'm sweating more than they are. Speaking of which, I wanted to give you the heads up, my gal. Napoleon took us back to headquarters on the pretense of forgetting something, asked around the secretarial pool for where you could find decent dancing and then called in our reservations. Our resident bird caller wouldn't even have had to strain themselves to find out where we were going to be tonight."

Glancing to the dance floor, only being able to spot the bright yellow dress told April without closer study which of the couples were their fellow agents

"They're working on flushing our bird out, Mark. We just have to be ready. If nothing else, if we can capture a picture of her, we might finally be able to indentify the doctor."

The music was slow, so Napoleon took advantage for a close dance.

"The music is loud enough that no-one will hear us Not another soul in this room has a clue that any thing is wrong with you, but I've known you too long and too well. How does that saying go? A burden shared is worth two in the bush?"

That got the tension breaking chuckle he'd been after. Leaning her head on his shoulder to talk easier, Illyana let out a soft sigh. Anyone other than Napoleon would have gotten a firm denial that anything was wrong

"It is this whole idiotic situation. At April' home, I kept looking in the mirror, pretending that I was getting ready for pulling off just one more elaborate disguise. A disguise that I will go home and pull off when we are done, then go back on with my life. But the truth comes out occassionally and I think that I must be going mad. The more I try to reason this out, the more I disbelieve it. Until I look in a mirror and reconfirm that this is no diguise and will not come off when I want it to. What if - what if what she has done cannot be undone? Sorry, Napoleon - I do not feel that I am handling this well."

"You are handling this far better than I would have. They would have had to tranqualize me to stop the screaming. Listen, we don't know how she did that mind window thing either, partner - but whatever has been done can be undone."

"Those who have been circumcised might disagree."

"That gallows humor of yours is not going to cheer you up. I meant what I said to Mister Waverly, you know. You are my partner. No matter what comes."

"Til death do us part?"

"Bite your tongue. First date and you're already talking marriage vows."

"Sorry. If you prefer, I could switch back to gallows humor."

"That **was** gallows humor. Besides, you've totally missed the bright side to all of this."

"If there is a bright side, you are correct - I have missed it."

"You've always said you couldn't figure out what women saw in me. Here's your one chance to find out. I will ply you with all of my best seduction techniques for both your evaluation and the doctor's annoyance."

A light smile played on Illyana's lips.

"You. Are going to try to seduce me? Napoleon... I am not that kind of a girl."

Napoleon got a touch of a devilish gleam in his eye as the music pace got a bit faster and he twirled with her.

"Ah, not yet you aren't. But the night is still young."


	9. Chapter 9

**Part IX**

It seemed that Napoleon had decided that dancing was the best way to be obvious that he and his partner were there for more than just a meal, so he took Illyana to the dance floor between courses. He also escorted her around to a few different tables to speak with several socialites he'd cultivated over the years in his 'man about town' persona.

The two of them were moving around after the entree when, back at the table, Mark caught a glimpse of red curls from the corner of his eye and gave April a nudge to get her attention.

"Curls at four o'clock, April m'luv, and it isn't Goldilocks. What's your call?"

"We need a picture of the girl, Mark. If it is her, she's not likely to come close enough for our pair to see her. I'll go powder my nose and see if I can snag a shot in route. You stay here and keep a close watch on the room."

"Right. Be careful."

April just flashed him a smile, pausing to give him a peck on top of his head after she got up to leave. He just laughed to himself. That was likely no doubt in the room that he was probably her brother after that. Even though that was a role they were both comfortable with, there was something to be said with stepping out of comfort zones. Especially in their chosen line of work.

Normally, Mark would have moved away from the table to a better position where he could watch April's back. But they'd decided that one of them needed to be at the table at all times to try and ensure that none of their drinks or food was tampered with in their absence. As soon as April had left the table, he also found that there was an attractive brunette paying attention to him. He just smiled back. No need to be rude, after all. Especially to an attractive woman.

As April made her way to the ladies lounge, she became a touch concerned as it seemed their redhead had the same destination in mind. _Oh well – in for a penny, in for a pound._

There was a decent sized gathering inside and, to April's amusement, a good deal of the general chatter revolved around Napoleon's date. There was a mix of opinion as to her nationality and possible associations. Enough women were around that April decided to indulge in a touch of mischief.

During her first year as an agent, April had had to go undercover at a carnival and one of the performers there had taught her the basics of ventriloquism. Nothing but tons of practice improves that art, but she'd been intrigued enough by it to keep at it over the years since as a hobby. She'd never tried using it in a situation like this, but with so many women speaking and most of them not being intimately acquainted, this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Leaning toward a mirror, pretending to refresh her lipstick, she 'threw' her voice.

"_I recognized that accent. Definitely Russian." _

It worked beautifully. No-one questioned who the remark had come from, they all just assumed it was one of the other women present that they didn't know, but no-one gave more than a side glance April's direction. The line set off a whole new range of speculation. After all, the woman was svelte. Muscular. That hair. And Russian? All together, all of the elements led the women to the conclusion that this Miss Illyana must be a ballerina.

April managed to get a couple of shots of the redhead, but didn't dare try for more. Too many eyes and one of them noticing and commenting wouldn't be good at all. She slid her lipstick tube back into her clutch and made her way back out to Mark just before Napoleon and Illyana rejoined them.

"There was a redhead with curls here. I think I managed to get clear shots of her so that you can confirm whether or not she's the doctor. Oh, and congratulations, Napoleon. It seems to be the considered opinion of the majority of ladies that your date is a ballerina."

"Oh joy. Just so long as no-one expect me to perform a soubresaut."

Illyana's dry response got a chuckle out of Napoleon. It had taken him awhile to get used to his partner's cynical and occasionally caustic sense of humor, but he'd grown to appreciate it. Well, so long as he wasn't the primary target.

"Alright, compadres, we have a possible picture of our quarry. Let's have dessert so we don't look in a rush to bolt out of here, then head to the labs. Is there something wrong?"

The last was a question brought about by the act of his partner looking over her shoulder at the other tables. Illyana shifted back around.

"Just an odd feeling. How is it you said it once? Like someone walking over grave? I would prefer leaving sooner than later."

The other three agents immediately grew uncomfortable as well. One thing that they had all learned quickly in the espionage business - never ignore it when your guts tell you something isn't quite right even if you can't find a reason for it. It improves longevity. Napoleon rose from his seat.

"On second thought, let's skip dessert. Hate for you not to be able to fit into your tutu tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

**Part X**

As they waited back at the U.N.C.L.E. labs for the film to be processed, April sighed and leaned back.

"All this miniaturization is lovely and all that, but I do wish there was a quicker way to get a look at the images."

Mark gave her a bemused look.

"What? A mini-Polaroid, luv? With a camera like you were using, the picture wouldn't even be as big as a postage stamp."

Illyana's eyes were closed, but she was obviously paying attention.

"Leaps and bounds will be made during our life times, I am sure. It has not even been seventy years since the box camera was first used and see what a difference has come in that amount of time. Who knows? Perhaps someday, you will take the picture and be able to look at it without even bothering to print it out first."

That got a laugh from Mark.

"You've been reading too much science fiction."

Any comeback to that was cut off by the arrival in the room of the lab technician, who immediately passed the folder to Napoleon before making an equally quick exit back to their lab. Quickly opening the folder, Napoleon looked at first one, then the other image before tossing the folder down with a frown.

"That's not her. Damn it."

Leaning forward, Illyana took the folder and opened it. Unlike Napoleon's quick look, she studied them closely with a gradually deepening frown.

"You are right, my friend. That is not her face, but look again. It **is** her hair. Same color, same length - same everything."

"What?"

Napoleon got up and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at the photos again.

"Well, I'll be... a wig. Has to be. Makes sense. Good way to foul up identification."

Mark just groaned.

"Bloody hell... she could have been there the whole time and we'd never have known it."

"No use worrying about that now, dear. It would have been nice, but really very lucky for us to have gotten a hit right off the bat. And it's gotten late. Since we're all open for assignment in the morning, we'd best call it a night. Will you gents drop us off or should we call a cab?"

Napoleon just laughed.

"Just drop off?"

Illyana shot him a glance over her shoulder.

"Yes, just drop off. I am still not that kind of girl."

The next morning, April and Mark got the call from Waverly first and just ducked their heads into the pair's office long enough to let them know they were headed off to London - and for April to drop a key off to Illyana. The key was no more than pocketed when they were called into Waverly's office themselves. Within an hour, they were headed to the airport. Napoleon was handling the driving while Illyana looked over the mission brief again.

"Italy. A possible attempt to replace the Pope. Do you suppose that means killing him so that someone they favor takes the papal crown or actually substituting another man in his place?"

"I suppose it could be either - but it's our job to make sure it's neither. Let's go catch our flight. I know you can't wait to dig into that tasty airline grub."

"They make it from grubs? That would explain a great deal."

The mission ended up being a very trying two weeks filled with dealing with the Entity, arguing with the Swiss Guard, Illyana going undercover as a nun while Napoleon played a banker - all of that topped off by a short, but unpleasant, series of first-hand lessons in a dank room on some of the methods used back in the days of the Inquisition. Mission accomplished, the pair made their way into a hotel room and collapsed briefly before preparing to inspect each other's wounds. Illyana stripped without a trace of self-consciousness. Napoleon balked a bit - which earned him yet another eye-roll and a sigh.

"What inch of your body have I not seen before? I have seen all of your outside - and considerably more of your insides than I cared to."

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady - you were a nun, not the Mother Superior."

Still, the tension was shattered and didn't return. Illyana hissed througn her teeth while Napoleon carefully cleaned out the scourge marks on her back, then it was Napoleon's turn to hold back the groans while his burns were tended.

"You know, for old-fashioned torture instruments, those things were remarkably effective."

"Really? I cannot say that I noticed."

"Your humor gets any drier, I'm going to have to start carrying a water supply along with me. Huh - only one bed. You take it. I'll take the couch."

"Do not be silly. We have shared beds for years. And it looks wide enough for us to be able to avoid touching each other's back. Whereas the couch looks very narrow."

"I'm too tired to argue with you. Don't blame me in the morning. I tried to protect your virtue."

"With the shape our respective backs are currently in, I think such virtue as I have is safe enough. Besides, while you have a justified reputation as a womanizer, I have yet to hear a valid case for you molesting without permission."

Illyana turned her back to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder at the reflection.

"I, for one, do not look forward to that long plane ride back. Airline seats are not the most comfortable things to rest a fresh wound against and we will have no way of changing our dressings until we arrive back in New York."

Napoleon winced at the thought having to endure the touch of the seat back against his burns for hours as he carefully laid down on the bed.

"Gee thanks, I hadn't thought about that upcoming pleasure yet. And the way our luck has run lately, we'll hit turbulence."

"Now who is being the pessimist? That is my job. So shut up and go to sleep."

Easing herself into the bed, Illyana carefully pulled the covers up over the two of them. Hugging her pillow, she quickly giving up consciousness to sleep. Napoleon was rather envious at times of his partner's ability to sleep in the damnedest conditions.

The burns made it a little trickier for Napoleon to get comfortable, so he had a some time to watch his sleeping partner. While it was true that Illyana was not the typical sort of woman he was seen with, there was also some truth to something Illya had said once. He'd been asked by one of the secretarial pool about what Napoleon's type of woman was - Illya's response? "_Breathing_." He did have to confess there was a bit of truth in that, but really, was enjoying women that big of a deal? Whether or not Illyana would be the sort that would have drawn him to her had he not already known the person inside? That was another question.

It was a slightly chilly night, but one thing that hadn't changed was that the blonde Russian was a heater in flesh form. In fact, as Napoleon turned everything over in his mind, very little had really changed. They could still anticipate each other's move. Still move as one when needed. They'd gone up against some nasty characters, but protected the Pope and got out alive, if not unscathed. Only real adjustment that they'd needed to make was the sort of disguise that Illyana could pull off beleivably. Strangely enough, the choices had increased rather than decreased. Having become a small breasted woman, Illyana could still pull off a masculine disguise with relative ease.

Reaching over to mess with his dozing partner's hair a bit, smirking as a slight frown formed, Napoleon then lifted the sheets to look over the body beside his. After a bit of due consideration, he decided he just might need to expand his ideas of what he found attractive in the female form. Not that he was going to expand them to the point of including his partner, of course. Illyana's tone alone while worrying about not being able to go back told him very plainly that she wasn't about to break out with a chorus from 'I Enjoy Being a Girl'. Except possibly to be annoying.

Mind wandering a bit, he found his fingers were idly tracing along an old familiar scar that marred the altered torso. Then he felt the slight chill that informed him that a certain pair of blue eyes were now open and watching him.

"Do you always annoy women by waking them this way?"

"No, but then again, none of them have ever had the scars that you do."

"At least not until **after** a date with you. I still have trouble comprehending why they put up with you."

"I assume that it's partially to do with my boyish charms."

"Is that another way of saying that you are hung like a gelding?"

That earned a scowl from Solo.

"You mean 'like a stallion'."

"Do I?"

A sly smile formed after that as Illyana continued.

"Then allow me to rephrase that. If you do not cut it out and allow me to sleep, then you **will** be hung like a gelding."

Chuckling, Napoleon removed his hand in surrender.

"So noted. I'll keep my hands off your body parts and you definately keep yours off of mine."

"Oh, it is not that contact that I mind. It is the waking me up part."

"Also noted. Go back to sleep, partner."

With that, Napoleon also did what Illyana had suggested earlier. He shut up and went to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Part XI**

Their next two missions went so smoothly that Napoleon began to amuse his partner by knocking on every wooden surface in sight. Especially when things became extremely quiet – almost as if T.H.R.U.S.H. had dropped off of the face of the Earth.

They were sitting in the cafeteria with April when Napoleon voiced that thought. April gave a short laugh.

"We aren't that lucky. Maybe one of their mad scientists went crazy in their direction instead of ours for once. But disappear? No, can't see that, my dears."

Glancing down at her tea, Illyana just shrugged.

"Besides which, if they did disappear, another group would rise to fill the vacuum. Perhaps we could call them V.U.L.T.U.R.E. and stop maligning innocent songbirds."

"Good Lord, Yana – what an acronym! Let's see…. Villains Under Leaders Testing Universally Radiating Evil? Ugh. That's awful."

Napoleon and Illyana both threatened to toss the remains of their Danishes at April for that one.

"You know something is seriously bad if I am threatening to throw food. We need Mark here as a steadying influence for you. Where is he? I have not seen him for a few days now."

"Since the enemy is slacking and he had some time off he needed to take, Mark decided to go on a short holiday. He's been seeing a lot of a young lady recently, so I expect that had a lot to do with it. He won't be back until the end of the month."

When the intercom called for Solo and Kuryakin to report to Mister Waverly's office, they rose in unison with a sense of relief. April gave them a wave as she sighed. She had the nasty feeling she was going to be spending the afternnoon stuck in Accounting trying to explain her last reimbursement request.

As they moved through the halls together side by side, Napoleon flashed a wry look over to Illyana. The stride was much more feminine now. It made him wonder if his partner was going to have to learn to rewalk yet again when they figured out how to restore him.

"It probably doesn't speak well of us that we're in a better mood now that something might be going wrong somewhere in the world, does it?"

"It speaks of our low tolerance for boredom at any rate, Napoleon. Of course, Mister Waverly may just be wanting us to wax his car during the downtime."

Fortunately or unfortunately, car waxing proved not to be on the agenda as the two were sent off on what should have been another fairly routine mission. Waverly would normally have only sent one of them, but the recent quietness of T.H.R.U.S.H. had him waiting for the other shoe to drop. So the Solo/Kuryakin team was picked to handle a code drop in, of all places, Casablanca.

It turned out that Waverly's caution was well founded - and that Napoleon should have knocked on a great deal more wood. The courier had already sent word through channels that he didn't trust passing information if he was outnumbered, so Waverly hadn't mentioned sending anyone but Napoleon, who was to meet with him alone. Illyana found a vantage point where the drop could be watched by binoculars and took position.

The courier proved to be not only skittish, but a double agent and trigger happy as well. Yana cursed as she saw Napoleon drop. But there would be no chance to take vengeance on the courier. Apparently displeased with his shooting of the U.N.C.L.E. agent, the courier was immediately executed by his superior while two other T.H.R.U.S.H. agents carried Napoleon away. Luckily where they carried him to was a building that was still within range of Illyana's sight. Napoleon's fabled luck might have been messy, but it seemed to be holding. For now.

Not about to trust that luck to the point of breaking, Illyana quickly looked up a contact from years past, back before the partnership with Napoleon had begun. A slight borrowing of the Solo luck was credited with the fact that Hicham was still alive as well as still in the business of being 'useful to all - dangerous to none'. It took a little convincing to persuade him to lend a hand to the 'sister' of the man that had helped him out of a potentially fatal situation years ago. In the end, it was the combination of his sense of honor, those well-remembered blue eyes plus the facts that no-one else could have known that finally turned the tide.

This particular T.H.R.U.S.H. outpost was tiny - one reason it had remained under U.N.C.L.E. radar. There were altogether only ten agents assigned and they had meals mixed with 'entertainment' delivered nightly. That fact led to a series of favors being called in and monies exchanged with the end result being that Illyana was to be that evening's entertainment.

Inside the outpost, Napoleon shifted uncomfortably. His wound was in the category of 'not horrible, but bad enough'. He felt feverish, but both he and the T.H.R.U.S.H. medic were of the opinion he'd be fine so long as he got real medical attention in the not-too-distant future. Trouble being, they didn't seem in much of a hurry to provide it and, with his left wrist handcuffed to the frame an old World War II style steel framed Army cot, it wasn't like he could get assistance for himself.

Napoleon had been half-dozing from the combination of heat and shock when the smell of food drug him back to awareness. What kept his attention was the woman that accompanied the food. Her skin tone was a warm golden amber and encased in a close-fitting two-piece dancers outfit of vibrant peacock blue. Her hair was dark with heavy bangs that rather brought to mind that female singer with the short male partner... ah yes, Cher. Moving with her hips swaying rhythmically, the woman teased and joked with the T.H.R.U.S.H. men - periodically disappearing with one before reappearing to fill wine glasses as the multiple bangles at her wrists softly chimed against one another.

Napoleon dozed back out again during one of the periods where she was away. A light touch on his arm snapped him instantly awake and, before he was even aware of what he was doing, he had taken a firm hold on one of those bangle covered wrists. An amused voice brought him the rest of the way to alertness.

"I keep telling you that I am not that kind of girl. You need to start listening."

Looking up, he saw the familiar smirk with the more familiar ice blue eyes above it.

"As soon as you release my wrist, we'll get you out of here. You need a doctor and Mister Waverly's already arranged a clean-up crew for this little operation. Medical care here is less than stellar, so I hope I was right in telling him that your condition is stable. I felt that getting you straight back to New York to our doctors there that know you would be best."

Numbly releasing his partner, Napoleon just watched as Illyana unlocked the cuff with a key he had gotten from somewhere and helped him to his feet.

"I have an old acquaintance of my 'brother' waiting on us. He's going to get us to the plane that Mister Waverly has arranged."

When he woke in mid-flight some time later, Napoleon couldn't remember much of the trip to the plane or boarding it. One thing he did know was that his partner hadn't left his side for more than a moment or two at a time. At present, said partner was taking a cool damp cloth to his face.

"Oh good, you are awake again. I was beginning to think I would have to resort to old magazines to pass the time."

A weak grin was all Napoleon could manage, but it was obviously appreciated. Illyana hadn't bothered to change out of her disguise and Napoleon gave a closer study to the dancing costume.

"Very nice color. Sets off your new tan well. How...?"

"How did I get such an even tan or how did I get you out?"

Illyana chuckled as he murmured the word 'both'.

"The tan is courtesy of a skin dye. I will be taking a lot of hot baths to get rid of this. As to the rest? That old acquaintance that brought us to the plane was able to get me some useful information about our desert birds. They were used to having their way with the ladies sent to deliver their food, so it wasn't too terribly difficult to draw them apart and deal with them individually."

"Whoa... wait. You _seduced_ them?"

That was a mental image Napoleon was having trouble wrapping his head around. He was already having problems connecting those swaying hips he'd been watching to his partner. It made him wonder a touch ruefully if the odd sensation he felt was how a brother would feel if he'd just found out his sister was going out with men.

"It was not so hard. I could not use any of the techniques you so diligently showed me, though. They just didn't seem to fit the situation."

"So what techniques did you use? And where the hell did you learn them?"

A slight darkening than could have been deepening shadow or a blush passed over the otherwise placid features.

"In truth? I copied all of the techniques that the secretary pool has tried on me over the years, leaning most heavily on the ones that have annoyed me the most."

He could only manage a chuckle, but Napoleon reached out and took hold of his best friend and partner's hand, clasping it firmly. They remained that way for the remainder of the flight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part XII**

A doctor was waiting when the plane touched down and, after a quick examination, he gave Napoleon a shot to help with the pain while he was transferred to the medical unit. That was the last he knew until he woke up in a hospital bed. Glancing around groggily, he noted there was sunshine coming through the window. He also spotted his partner curled on the room's other bed napping. The dark wig was pooled on the side table like a large, very relaxed cat.

There was a tap at the door, but it was obviously more of a 'heads up' than a request as the door was opening before any response could be made. Mister Waverly took in the scene quietly, looking a touch bemused at the remainder of Illyana's disguise. His entrance already had her stirring, but she started awake and quickly sat up when it registered with her just who it was that had entered the room.

"Good morning. I must say that the two of you can complicate the simplest missions. The good news is that in dismantling the Casablanca outpost, we discovered the locations of four other small posts we were previously unaware of. Commendable outcome. And to partially reward your efforts, I've brought you a present from the labs, Miss Kuryakin. They tell me a liberal application of this substance in conjunction with a hot shower will restore you to your normal coloration in no time. No reason you can't make use of this room' shower for that purpose. I've already contacted Miss Dancer and she should be arriving shortly with a change of clothing for you as well."

Illyana neatly caught the small container he tossed to her.

"Thank you, sir. I very much appreciate it."

"Not at all, not at all."

Mister Waverly seemed uncharacteristically cheerful, enough so that the partners exchanged glances. Napoleon cleared his throat slightly.

"Did anything else of interest turn up at the outpost, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, Mister Solo. Questioning the agents captured has revealed at least part of the reason for this period of relative quiet. Apparently several of the upper echelon of T.H.R.U.S.H. have been struck by some sort of mysterious malady. So we can't expect this to last for much longer. They'll have sorted out who will be taking over soon enough, I'm sure. On another note, we have finally tracked down decisively the identity of the traitor in our ranks. The agent was a former Section Two who experienced a bit of a breakdown. We had removed him from the field and transferred him to Section Six. His supervisor and doctor were each of the opinion that he was adjusting well, but apparently he had fixed it in his mind that Mister Kuryakin was the one responsible for all of his woes. Our mystery doctor somehow learned of this and exploited it to her own advantage."

"In other news, Mister Solo, the doctors tell me that you are as well as can be expected after your injury and they will quite likely release you to light duty in two or three days. One thing they have prescribed for you is rest, so I will leave you to return to your nap and you to go your shower. I'll check back in on both of you later."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

Napoleon leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes, listening as Illyana got ready to hit the shower. Next thing he knew, April's voice startled him. He hadn't realized he'd dozed off. Couldn't have been for too long though. The shower could still be heard, though it shut off after just another minute.

"Sorry, Napoleon – didn't mean to make you jump. I was just dropping off some clothes. Well, I was checking up on you as well, of course. What happened?"

"The courier was quick on the trigger. Fortunately, he apparently would have had trouble hitting the broad side of a barn. As close as I was, I don't see how he missed hitting anything important."

"Or he was a very good shot and missing the vitals was deliberate. Are those for me?"

That voice came from the bathroom door as Illyana stepped out in a robe, extremely pink skinned, gesturing to the bundle April was holding. April nodded and moved to hand the clothes over at which time Illyana disappeared back into the bathroom.

Napoleon was looking thoughtful as April moved over to the chair and picked up part of the peacock blue costume to study it closer.

"You know, I hadn't even considered that my survival might have been more than a happy accident. Shame we'll never really know."

"Why not? Isn't the courier talking?"

The answer to that came from behind April.

"Not unless we engage the services of a spiritualist. He was killed by T.H.R.U.S.H. almost immediately after Napoleon's shooting. And thank you, April. This is much better."

"You're welcome, but I don't know that it's an improvement. This color is absolutely luscious."

"Take it then. I doubt I will have another opportunity to wear it. Have you heard from Mark? "

"Oh yes. He seems to be having a grand time. Even sent me a picture from Coney Island yesterday. Hang on, I have it here."

Napoleon was half-dozing again, mentally cursing at the medication in his system that was keeping him sleepy. Illyana had moved to his bedside and her left hand was resting on the bedrail as April brought the picture over. The creaking noise got his attention and Napoleon frowned at the sight of the white knuckled grip on the rail.

April hadn't noticed the grip, but she did notice the sudden pallor that Illyana's skin tone took and moved over, retaking the photo with one hand while laying the other hand on the pale arm.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yes, yes. Fine. I .. I just need to go grab something to eat, I suppose. I am famished. Napoleon, I will be back later. Do you need me to bring back anything?"

"An attractive nurse that does massages would be nice."

The tone was flippant, but Napoleon's eyes were serious. His partner was avoiding eye contact. Not a good sign. Especially when Illyana made a quick exit, but what had triggered it? His eyes settled on the photo still in April's hand.

"Can I see that?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course."

It proved to be your typical Coney Island image – a couple posed with the Double Sky Wheel visible in the background. Napoleon blinked to clear his vision, again mentally cursing that the medicine in his veins was making close focusing difficult. Then he took a sharp breath.

"April. Go after Yana."

"What? Why? What's wrong?"

Napoleon turned the picture around.

"That woman with Mark? Add a red curly wig and you've got our mad doctor."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part XIII**

Afraid that if she didn't, Napoleon would start ripping tubes out of his arm, April hurried from the room, hoping that the identification of the woman in the picture was wrong. She sincerely doubted that though after Illyana's reaction.

She maneuvered her way outside as quickly as possible and then made use of her communicator.

"Open Channel J. Dancer to Kuryakin. Please respond."

"Kuryakin here. Are you still with Agent Solo?"

"No. But he knows."

April only knew a few words of Russian and didn't recognize the one Illyana used, but there was no mistaking it for anything but a curse.

"Meet me at Mark's flat. Kuryakin out."

The tone allowed no room for argument even if the connection hadn't been shut down, so April just got in her car and drove to Mark's place as quickly as she could. By the time she arrived, Illyana had already let herself in and was on the phone. April was waved over as soon as she stepped inside.

"She is here with me now. Continue."

April wished she could hear what was being said, but she gave a slight shiver as the blue eyes seemed to drop the surrounding temperature. When the phone was hung up, it was with more of a slam.

"That was her. We are being given one and only one opportunity to collect Mark alive. Part of the stipulation is that our communicators remain here."

Pulling her own out even as she spoke, it was laid down beside the phone. April followed suit and then had to hurry to catch up. Illyana was moving fast and giving instructions while in motion.

"You will drive, I will give directions. She has given us a very narrow time window we must meet if we do not wish to collect a body."

The drive was mostly silent except for the short directions given out at the appropriate time. Illyana's whole posture was taunt as a bowstring and April wondered what exactly the doctor had said. But the senior agent's posture stated that no questions would be entertained just as clearly as if wearing a sandwich board sign. Still, when they reached a rather rural area, she had to break the silence for the sake of her own nerves.

"Where are we?"

The glacier blue eyes flicked a quick glance at her before looking back out through the windscreen.

"Near where it all began. We are not far from where the lab was blown up... there. Park there."

Turning immediately to where she was directed, April had parked before she got a look at the signal Illyana had spotted. A small hangman's noose dangling from one of the tree branches.

"The doctor's way to keep reminding us that this meeting is deadly serious."

Opening the door and stepping out, Illyana began to undress, much to April's shock. Everything with the exception of undergarments were piled into the passenger seat including the thigh holster and gun.

"You are allowed to remain clothed. This is our sign of good faith. Come."

A bad feeling about all of this was welling up inside of April, but she wasn't about to let Illyana face whatever was in store alone. The ground was rough and Illyana's bare feet were bleeding in several places when a woman's voice rang out.

"That's far enough. Are you prepared, Kuryakin?"

"Not until we've seen Agent Slate."

"Very well."

There was a rustling ahead and Mark was half-carried/half-drug out into sight by two sizable men. His arms were apparently bound behind him in some way and he was gagged. His coloration was a horribly unhealthy looking shade and he seemed to be sweating profusely in spite of the mild temperature. Then the doctor stepped into sight. She was wearing the red wig again.

"As you can see, he is alive. For a bit longer. We will do the exchange now."

"Wait - exchange? What is she talking about?"

Illyana didn't look at April, instead fixing her eyes on Mark. Just as Illyana began to open her mouth to speak, the doctor laughed and spoke up.

"The exchange is Agent Slate for Agent Kuryakin. There are a pair of handcuffs atop the stump to the left of you, Agent Dancer. Use them on Kuryakin and don't be too long. Your partner is on borrowed time."

April moved stiffly, picking up the cuffs, then giving Illyana a pleading look.

"I can't do this."

"Consider it an order, Agent Dancer. I outrank you. Get your partner to a hospital. She poisoned him and you have only so long before its too late."

It being an order didn't make April feel any less nauseated as she cuffed Illyana's wrists behind her back. She'd just met her and she already hated the smirking doctor watching them. Once both cuffs were locked, Illyana spoke softly.

"If you see any sign of betrayal, shoot myself and Mark then get yourself back to headquarters without delay by any means necessary. And take care of Napoleon for me."

The two men drug Mark to the halfway point, dumped him, then moved back to the doctor as Illyana began to walk toward them. Whatever feelings were running around inside of the Russian's head, that head was held high and the walk was steady. Once Illyana was a good ten feet past Mark, the doctor called over to April.

"Take your partner. If it is a salve to your conscious, you will see Kuryakin again."

As April moved to get Mark and help him to the car, the two men came forward to grab Illyana. All four were quickly out of sight by the time April had ungagged her partner to help his breathing. Fortunately, Mark could still walk on his own with assistance, but it still took longer than April was comfortable with to get him into the back of the car. She had just gotten behind the wheel when the distinctive sound of a helicopter taking off reached her ears. While she managed not to curse out loud, a great many applicable words went through her head as she put the car into gear and sped back toward U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. The doctor's words didn't make her feel any better - especially as the doctor hadn't specified if Kuryakin would still be alive or not when she saw her again.

Meanwhile, a blindfold had been placed in Illyana for the duration of the helicopter ride which, in her current state of undress, was very chilly. Once they landed, she was guided blindly down several sets of stairs before being forced back into a cold, metal chair. The sound of a lock and the slight rattle of a chain led to a suspicion that a sharp tug confirmed. The cuffs had been tethered down. On a short tether at that.

The blindfold was tugged off by the doctor before she started pacing, slapping a length on leather across her palm occasionally.

The bad feeling Illyana had about the tether wasn't improved when her ankles were strapped snuggly to the chair legs next. Being nearly nude and in restraints near the doctor who was very obviously angry and quite possibly mad was not in line with Illyana's idea of a good situation.

Finally, the doctor stopped in front of the Russian. There was absolute silence for a minute as they simply gazed at one another - stormy green looking down into artic blue. Finally, the doctor's eyes narrowed and she made an exasperated noise.

"It was not supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to have rejected you as a partner. Or you should have rejected him for how he chases skirts. You were **not** supposed to have gotten along!"

The displeasure was emphasized by the snap of the leather strap against Illyana's body. She swallowed hard to stop herself from crying out. Men's breasts being sensitive was a known fact, but until then, just how much more sensitive a woman's could be hadn't been apparent.

The doctor started to pace again, but stopped and spun back on Illyana suddenly.

"Vilify him. Tell me his faults."

"Solo? He has none. The man is a saint."

The strap slapped hard just above the navel after that answer, the welt starting to form almost immediately.

"We will see how long his sainthood lasts. Kenton. Allow her four ounces of water every two hours. No food. Do not release her from the chair for any reason whatsoever unless I directly authorize it."

That was the beginning of a long, cold night. Since they would not let her out of the chair, there was eventually no option but to eliminate on herself. Eventually, the guards got around to hosing her off with tepid water, but that really wasn't much of an improvement. Sleeping in the chair was near impossible, not that much opportunity was given. The guards also apparently had standing orders in case she was still for too long.

Judging by the times water was given, it was about six hours before the doctor returned, bearing a steaming tray of food that she sat on a small table beside a considerably more comfortable looking chair that had been placed opposite of Illyana's. Sitting down, the doctor began to eat slowly. Not paying attention to the sight of the food was easier than ignoring the smell. The doctor gave a small smile as Illyana's stomach betrayed the rest of her stoicism by audibly growling.

Since the doctor didn't seem about to break the silence, Illyana finally did.

"Why do you hate partners so?"

The green eyes darkened a bit.

"You are the individual that should be answering questions. However, I will answer that one. Partners are just a miniature version of the 'Old Boys Club'. Men like to gather in their little cliques as a way to exclude women. Deny them what is rightfully theirs. Deny their genius."

"You have had experience with this, I take it?"

"And you are supposed to be the smart one? Yes. The idiots in charge of funding at T.H.R.U.S.H. cannot even comprehend where I could take them! I will **not** be another Rosalind Franklin! No-one will steal my work! Do you have even the slightest comprehension of what I have done to you means?"

Illyana frowned and searched through all of the articles read throughout the years. Franklin.. that name was familiar. Yes, a British researcher... the blue eyes went wide as the memory clicked into place.

"You are altering DNA?"

The doctor smiled coolly then and settled back down again.

"So you are the smart one, after all. Very good, Kuryakin. Although altering is not quite the way I would phrase it. I am devising ways to... pluck the strands. Twist them, if you like. While I cannot make something from nothing, I will eventually be able to make you into any combination that your ancestors have given me to work with. Sex was such a basic place to start. So few variables to deal wth there, after all. But the possibilities! The things I have already discovered and the things that lie ahead. Such information would be priceless to the minds large enough to grasp what it is I truly will be able to do when I finally unlock all of the codes."

It was all very plain to Kuryakin just what sort of things might be possible to someone that could alter the very building blocks of life. Then the thought of what the sort of information might be made to do in the hands of T.H.R.U.S.H.

"Did I detect a shudder, Kuryakin? Then you have begun to see what I have seen."

Rising, the doctor picked her tray back up and started to exit.

"Later, we will see if your stomach has managed to talk any common sense into your head."


	14. Chapter 14

**Part XIV**

There was a major upheaval as April pulled her car into the secure U.N.C.L.E. garage. While she didn't have her communicator, the car was equipped with an alarm button to let them know that an emergency was in progress. Both gunmen and medics were waiting as she screeched to a halt.

"My partner's been poisoned! We need to get him to medical immediately!"

The trained agents sprang into action immediately and Mark was lifted out and onto a gurney. It didn't improve April's general feeling of helplessness to see that he was no longer conscious. One of the other medics looked her over before speaking.

"Come with me. Mister Waverly wants to know what's been going on."

That was one meeting April had been hoping to put off just a bit longer, at least until she knew Mark was stable. Didn't seem like anything was going to be to her liking today though. That feeling intensified as she realized she wasn't being led to Mister Waverly's office. They were approaching Napoleon's room.

The medic stopped just outside of the door and gave April a whispered 'good luck'. He didn't know what all had happened or her involvement, but he knew the signs of stress and she was exhibiting most of them. She flashed him a smile of thanks, but it was a notably weak one. Then she took a deep breath and went inside.

Napoleon's eyes were fixed on her the second she walked through the door. Mister Waverly was in the chair and that left her to stand at the other side of Napoleon's bed feeling rather like she was standing in front of a firing squad.

"Miss Dancer. Please start from when you left the room. I have the story from Mister Solo up to that point."

"Yes sir. I left the building and contacted Agent Kuryakin who told me to come to Agent Slate's flat. By the time I arrived, Agent Kuryakin was already inside and on the phone. The conversation had been apparently waiting on my arrival, but I didn't hear any of it except for Agent Kuryakin's part. Which was minimal and ended with the phone being slammed down onto the cradle."

"I was told it was the doctor on the other end of that call. While I wasn't told that we were being watched, I believe we were. How else would the doctor have known when to call or know whether her orders that we leave our communicators behind on Mark's table were being followed?"

"Agent Kuryakin said we were being given one and only one opportunity to get Mark back alive and that we had a very tight time window. I was to drive while Agent Kuryakin gave directions. There was a great deal of tension and very little conversation, but I was informed that the place I was driving us to was near the place where Solo and Kuryakin blew up the doctor's lab after their first encounter."

"I... was not aware of the other conditions the doctor had set until we stopped at which time Agent Kuryakin stripped out of everything but undergarments and left the clothing, shoes and weapons in the car. I suppose we'd walked for a little over five minutes when the doctor's voice told us to stop. We were shown Agent Slate and Agent Kuryakin informed me that the doctor had poisoned him."

Pausing briefly to take a deep steadying breath, April continued. She would deliver the facts as concisely and unemotionally as possible.

"The doctor had agreed to trade Agent Slate for Agent Kuryakin. I objected, but Agent Kuryakin pulled rank and ordered me to co-operate and get my partner to medical assistance, though I was told quietly that if there were any signs that the doctor was going to back out of the deal, I was to shoot Agent Kuryakin before returning to headquarters by any means possible and make a full report."

"I was ordered to handcuff Agent Kuryakin's wrists behind, then the exchange took place. Agent Slate was still conscious at that time, but not able to balance well. The doctor called after us that I would see Kuryakin again, but she didn't specify when or how."

"Between us, we managed to get back to the car. I was just getting ready to drive off when I heard a helicopter. I can only assume Agent Kuryakin and the doctor were both passengers. I drove here - and you know the story from there, sir."

Waverly just nodded to acknowledge that she'd finished, then cast a glance over to Solo.

"That was learned from you, you know, Mister Solo. The stunt of pulling rank during a disagreeable situation."

Had it been anyone else but Waverly, Napoleon likely would have told them to shut up. As it was, he just grumbled.

"That wasn't a talent I was trying to pass along, sir."

"Quite. Well, Miss Dancer, go see to your partner. However disagreeable, the next move appears to be the doctor's."

April arrived in time to see one of the medical assistants rushing out of Mark's room on his way to the lab. Her glance over toward him wasn't at all reassuring as she worked her way into the room while keeping out of the way of the medical team. Mark's coloration was decidedly blue-ish gray and his body seemed to be suffering from convulsions. By the assistant returned, the doctors were about to put Mark on a respirator, but the head doctor snatched the tube from the assistant, filled a syringe and immediately it into Mark.

It was a long moment in the room as Mark's convulsions stilled, but in another minute, his body suddenly gulped a lungful of air, then settled quickly into a normal breathing pattern. The team still moved efficiently to check on his vitals, but they quickly lost the urgency of a life or death situation. April began to breath a bit easier herself as the improvement spread to Mark's coloration starting to flush pink again.

While Mark's condition improved by the hour, Illyana could not say the same for herself. After being the doctor's prisoner for two days, lack of food and sleep was making her less than lucid. Even so, it seemed that the doctor was unraveling more than she was. In one of the few pluses, the lack of food and limited water meant that elimination was far less of a problem now.

Continuing to take all of her own meals in front of Illyana, the doctor continued to press to get Illyana to betray Napoleon, even if only verbally.

"Go on, Kuryakin. Speak against your partner. You will be allowed to eat and Solo will never know about it, after all."

"I would know it."

Exchanges like that inevitably led to more beatings. More rantings. As many of the rantings were against T.H.R.U.S.H. Central as they were about him. But then she would come in occassionally and speak to Illyana as if visiting an intellectual colleage. Illyana never knew from one moment to the next which version of the doctor she would be dealing with. During one of the 'colleage moments' on the third day, Illyana tossed in a question.

"Is the division between sexes all you can manipulate at this point?"

The doctor was sitting in her chair, looking down at notes and not at her prisoner as she began apeaking.

"That depends on what you mean by manipulate. Pluck the right chord, make marvelous or terrible things happen. Such as diseases. A little twist? Voila!"

Muddled head and all, Illyana caught that tone of glee.

"It was you. You are the reason behind the troubles at T.H.R.U.S.H. Central."

The doctor's laugh was chilling and her smile worse.

"Yes. Oh very much yes. You, Kuryakin, are a puzzle to me, but you recognize genius. Do you realise that I gave you a gift not seen since the days of Tiresias? Like him, you have now lived as a man and as a woman."

The doctor leaned forward intently, green eyes as hard as stone.

"I have never reversed a procedure, but for the sake of argument, let us say that I could. If you were given the choice, which would you live as?"

"A man."

The immediate response seemed to infuriate her. The doctor came out of her chair, grabbed the Russian by the sides of her face and yelled at her with their faces only inches apart.

"**Why?**!"

The blue eyes didn't flinch as the answer came just as quickly.

"My mother."

Immediately, the doctor released Illyana's face and stepped back blinking, clearly not expecting that answer. The doctor started to speak, stopped herself and paced for a minute to recompose herself. Once that was accomplished, she dropped back into her chair and leaned forward again slightly.

"Explain that."

"My mother has other daughters, but only one son."

The doctor sat back again, frowning as she mulled that over. The silence stretched out longer and longer, but the Russian sat perfectly still and didn't break the silence with even so much as a heavy breath. Finally, the doctor rose back out of her chair.

"I do not say this often, Kuryakin, but you are a very intriguing person. Your answer would be the same even knowing there would be a chance you would not survive the reversal?"

"It would."

One of the guards came in apologetically and handed the doctor a note. Reading it carefully, she rose from her chair again.

"I see that the time has come to have a chat with this saint of yours."

There was no chance to respond to that as the doctor gave a nod and something sharp jabbed into Kuryakin's neck. Seconds later, her body slumped in the chair and only the restraints kept her body from tumbling to the floor.

Back at U.N.C.L.E., Napoleon was finally being released from Medical. Much to his irritation, a secondary infection ended up keeping him stuck there for an additional day. When he was finally handed his papers and told to report to Waverly, he quickly dressed as he looked out of the window at the thunderstorm brewing outside. It rather matched his mood. Leaving medical, he went immediately to Mister Waverly's office. Miss Rogers motioned for him to go straight in.

Waverly gestured for Solo to come over to him rather than take a seat. That wasn't usual, but he heard the slight crackle of the speaker as he got nearer.

"Agent Solo is here as requested. Proceed."

"Mister Solo. I trust you are feeling better?"

Napoleon's head jerked at the voice and his eyes narrowed. Seeing a copy of the Coney Island picture on Waverly's desk, he reached over and tapped it to signal that it was the doctor on the phone. Napoleon didn't exchange pleasantries or beat around the bush.

"Where's my partner?"

"Manners, Mister Solo. Manners. It just so happens that I am debating exactly what I should do with Kuryakin. If having a woman as your partner is too much of a strain, just say so and I will keep Kuryakin with me. I'm sure you could have your pick of any other agent in U.N.C.L.E."

Napoleon's voice grew as icy as his Russian partner's eyes.

"I could always have had my choice of partners. Whatever you've done or try to do, that's my partner you have."

"Kuryakin seems to feel the same of you though I still have my doubts about you being eligible for sainthood. I have broken up many partnerships with far less effort than I have expended on the two of you. As high as Kuryakin's metabolism is, I had thought that denying food would help break down resistance. Apparently, I did not take into account a strong stubborn streak."

Napoleon winced as he recalled one of the last things his partner had said was 'I'm famished'. From the last meal that Napoleon knew of before the mission in Casablanca had gone sour, that meant his partner hadn't eaten in over four days.

"Mister Waverly? A quick word with you. I have left T.H.R.U.S.H. - they cannot appreciate one of my talents. U.N.C.L.E. would not approve of my methods, so that leaves me to strike out on my own. I will not deliberately be targeting U.N.C.L.E. for the time being unless your organization goes out of its way to interfere with me. And while I know that you and I will eventually come against one another, for now? We both have disagreements with T.H.R.U.S.H. and so long as I am around, they will be using some of the resources normally directed at you against me. The saying goes that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but I wouldn't think of this in those terms. For now, just think of me as a thorn in their claws. If you come after me, you will be aiding T.H.R.U.S.H."

"As a sign of my good faith in this, I will be sending to you some information on some T.H.R.U.S.H. dealings that may interest you. And now, back to you, Mister Solo. As you are already aware,I tend to play a bit roughly. Are you certain you want what remains of Kuryakin back?"

"Yes, damn you! I want my partner back."

Mister Waverly laid a hand on Napoleon's shoulder and could feel the strain running through his number one agent. There was a long silence, then a laugh,

"Yes, I will accept that answer. You will get your Kuryakin back. I regrettably will have to add that preparation of a hospital room is advisable. Spirits are stubborn, but bodies have their limits. Have Agent Dancer take you to the hanging tree, Mister Solo. Oh, and I wouldn't wait too long. The weather is rather nasty and exposure is never good when one is already in a weakened condition."

The doctor was still laughing as she hung up. Waverly was already calling for Agent Dancer to head to the garage area immediately as Solo ran from the room without waiting for leave to go. In this instance, Waverly understood perfectly.

April reached the garage just as Napoleon was starting his engine and jumped into the passenger seat without waiting for explanations. Napoleon gave her a bare bones fill-in and did the actual driving as April gave him the directions. She had to keep a sharp eye out as the rain began to come down by the bucket load. They had to slow as they got near the area, then a flash of lightning illuminated the scene.

"Oh my God... there! Napoleon - see? Hanging from that branch."

Coarse rope had been run across Kuryakin's chest, under the arms and tied to a stout branch, leaving the body dangling with the feet a few inches from reaching the ground, the back facing them. There was still a set of handcuffs around the wrists. The body was far too still for Napoleon's liking, pale and totally soaked. And? Unmistakably male.


	15. Chapter 15

**Part XV**

Napoleon didn't even bother to close the car door as he got out and raced over to where Illya was, cursing the doctor and her sadistic tendencies every step of the way. The rain was running down Illya like a marble statue. He resembled a marble statue in other ways as well. Coloration, coldness and stillness. The marble-like pallor was interrupted by a series of livid bruises and cuts that looked like paint splashed on by a vandal. Napoleon quickly pulled out his pocket knife and sawed through the rope around the Russian's chest. The groan that escaped from that pale throat as the rope parted and Illya's weight slumped onto him was music to Napoleon's ears. Never exactly heavy, Illya seemed ridiculously light.

April hadn't been idle. She had a blanket and some towels in her trunk that she kept there along with other basic supplies like a flashlight. Hurrying over with one of the towels, she noticed there was some sort of bundle on the ground. Draping the towel over Illya, she nodded back over toward the car.

"I have a blanket and another towel tossed in the back seat. You get back there with him and see if you can warm him up. I'll drive us back."

As Napoleon nodded and headed for the vehicle, April stopped just long enough to grab up the bundle. Getting into the driver's seat, she dumped it into the floorboard of the passenger side. Napoleon had already wrapped Illya with the blanket as best as he could manage in the limited space. He took a few moments to pick the locks on the handcuffs, tossing them forward into the passenger seat once they were off the badly bruised wrists. After that, Napoleon concentrated on using the towel to try and stimulate blood flow in the icy limbs.

Not far away, the doctor watched from the shelter of her hidden car. The success of the reversal was pleasing to her because she had again proven her genius to herself. True, the procedure had come close to pushing the Russian over the edge, but she had gained valuable insights on how to do it better in the future with far less risk. Smiling to herself as the U.N.C.L.E. car drove off, she spared a glance to the test tube in her hand filled with a whitish fluid. Kuryakin would still be aiding in some of her experiments - in one way or another. Laughing again, she told the driver to restart the engine. It was time to move her precious equipment far from the reach of her enemies.

About halfway back to headquarters, Napoleon's efforts were rewarded with a slight glimpse of blue and a ragged, tired voice.

"Are you a hallucination?"

"No, tovarich."

"Good. Hallucinations annoy me. I don't suppose we are near a place where we could get a burger?"

Chuckling with the release of pent-up tension, Napoleon wrapped the blanket a little tighter around the shivering Russian and held him close, partly to help warm his partner and partly to reassure himself that he was real. If Illya's main concern was his stomach, Napoleon felt sure he was going to live.

"You aren't exactly dressed to eat out. We need to let the doctors get a look at you, but as soon as they allow us out, we'll go where ever you want and you can eat to your heart's content. My treat."

Forty-eight hours later found Illya sharing a room with Mark. As Napoleon entered with April, they found Illya poking at an oddly colored bowl of gelatin. The way the greenish orange mass wobbled didn't help it look any more appetizing either. From the look of Mark's table, he'd already tried an unsuccessful experiment in making his portion of gelatin bounce.

"I may not be a religious man, my friends, but I think I have discovered the true definition of Hell. It is being told that you may eat all that you desire, but that all of the food must be hospital food."

"Good news on that front, gentlemen. And Miss Dancer."

Waverly had a slightly bemused look on his face as his sudden appearance startled everyone in the room. Now and again, his people forgot he hadn't always been behind a desk and it pleased him to remind them now and again that he could be as stealthy as the best of them when he cared to be.

"The doctors have informed me that Mister Slate's primary need now is for some rest to allow his body to finish mending from the after-effects of the poison."

"I'm just glad they came up with an antidote for it in time, sir."

"Well... in actuality, they didn't, Mister Slate. It seems the doctor sent a note along with you that gave us the formula for an antidote. She had it inside of a small metal container that she had... placed inside you."

"Bloody hell! So that's what that nurse was joking about. She stuck the antidote formula up me bum?"

"Well, that is not quite how I would have phrased it, Mister Slate, but yes, essentially correct."

April suddenly found the view out of the window fascinating as she turned red in a supreme effort not to start laughing. Mark just gave her back a glare while fighting back a desire to pull the covers over his head and hide.

"As for you, Mister Kuryakin, they tell me that your injuries are both numerous and painful, but not requiring further medical observation. They recommend food and rest. Since I believe you can both accomplish what needs doing better away from here, I have persuaded them to discharge both of you. Miss Dancer, your request for a week off to assist Mister Slate is granted. Mister Solo, since you are already on limited duty, you can make use of that time aiding Mister Kuryakin."

"Thank you, sir. Not that any of us would look a gift horse in the mouth, but can all of us be spared at the same time?"

"In a word, Mister Solo? Yes. Our counter-intelligence tells us that our opponents have run into another round of difficulties. It would seem that someone managed to appropriate a rather large amount of T.H.R.U.S.H. funding and that most of their current efforts are centering around locating and punishing that defector from their ranks. I trust everyone will make the effort to be back in top form by the time their attention swings back to us."

"Might I also stress that while we may let the doctor and T.H.R.U.S.H. consume one another's resources for a time, we do not want to stop our efforts to indentify the doctor herself. After reading Mister Kuryakin's report, I feel quite strongly that hers is a threat that we should not underestimate."

Napoleon gave a firm nod.

"Full agreement with you there, sir. Brilliant, but unhinged."

As soon as Mister Waverly exited, Illya threw the sheet off of himself.

"Let us get dressed and out of here before anyone changes their mind. I am glad you were able to recover my gun and shoulder holster, April. I could get others, but I am used to those already."

"Good thing the doctor left them and your clothes in that bundle then instead of keeping them as souvenirs."

Less than an hour later, Napoleon had all of them seated in a private room at Ercole's restaurant and Illya was happily starting with an antipasto dish, eating with both great enthusiasm and obvious enjoyment. April watched him eat, debating with herself before finally speaking up.

"Not that I want to interrupt the love affair between you and your fork, Illya, but could you answer a question?"

He took a moment to wash down his last bite with a sip of wine.

"That would depend entirely on the question, my friend."

"I looked in on you once back at my place and you were staring at yourself in the mirror and talking. What was that all about? I was thinking maybe self-hypnosis, but that doesn't seem right."

Napoleon and Illya both laughed at that. Illya reached for a slice of garlic toast and let his partner take over the explanations.

"Illya does his own variation of an acting technique made famous by one of his countrymen, Constantin Stanislavski. His acting method was to bring life to a role by living the role. You become the character rather than play the character."

Nodding, Illya took another short break from eating.

"I do it with most disguises, but particularly with those I have not done before. What I say while looking in the mirror are some of the basics of the role but while I say them, I try to think about what would be going through that person's head. What made them as they are? Why do they do what they do?"

"So... when you have to disguise yourself as a professor, people believe that you are one because **you** believe that you are one?"

"Perception, my dear April. Perception, after all, is everything. And while I actually was a woman, if I had not been trying to act the part, it might have appeared I was, how do they say, a slender man in drag?"

Napoleon flipped open the folder he'd brought with him. It was an enlargement of the Coney Island picture that only showed the doctor's face. Mark was rather pleased to have been left out of the shot.

"Speaking of perceptions. I wonder exactly how our mad doctor is doing? Not that I exactly wish her well, but by the same token, I hope she'll continue to be a rather large thorn in the other group's claw."

Ercole entered with their next course and caught a glimpse of the picture in front of Napoleon as he sat down the well-loaded platter.

"That is a beautiful lady, my friend - but you should stick with the lovely blonde. Remember what I said about enthusiasm. And it seems to run in the family."

Ercole gave an approving look to the amount of food Illya had already put away as Napoleon was glad that his wine needed refilling.

"Oh no, Ercole. Uhm - Miss Dancer here is a model and her agency was wanting her to consider doing a fashion shoot along with this other model."

Ercole took another look at the photograph as he went around with the bottle and topped off all of the wine glasses.

"You should do it, Miss Dancer. You are much more vibrant than this one. She would make you stand out like a rose in a desert. But do you know? I believe I have met her brother."

Mark nearly dropped his fork and even Illya paused with his own fork halfway to his mouth. April lowered her wine glass and tried to sound nonchalant.

"You've met a man that resembled her?"

"Oh yes. Just last night, that is why I remember so well. Not a very tall man. Five foot eight perhaps? But the nose and the eyes? Why, they could be twins."

Just then, one of his staff called out and Ercole hurried away to attend to a problem elsewhere, leaving the four agents to exchange glances as Napoleon closed the folder.

"You don't really think..."

Napoleon picked up his wine glass as if considering the liquid inside.

"I'll tell you what I do think. The doctor may not be on our side, but I'm very glad that's she - or he - is no longer on theirs either."

"I wonder if she has ever really been on any side other than her own? Seems like that would be a very lonely existence."

"Enough on her. I had my fill of her and tonight? I'd rather have my fill on this pasta."

"That, I will drink to, Mark. To good food - and good friends."

After dinner, the two teams separated. Waverly had forbidden both Illya and Mark from returning to their own places until everything could be gone over with a fine-toothed comb and all locks changed. April took Mark with her to settle him into her guest room while Illya was to stay at Napoleon's.

By themselves again, Illya relaxed in the passenger seat while Napoleon drove.

"Hey Illya... much as I love Ercole's wine selection, he could use some lessons on making a decent cup of coffee. Care to stop for a cup and maybe some pie?"

He knew Illya could take or leave coffee, but even after a full meal, he didn't think his partner's sweet tooth would reject desert. He wasn't disappointed.

"The pie sounds good and I could even make do with coffee if they have no tea available."

It didn't take long for them to be seated at a booth. Illya winced a little as he eased into the seat. Some of his bruising was still pretty tender. On a positive note, the waitress assured him that she knew how to make a decent cup of tea.

As they sat back to wait for their order, Napoleon looked over at Illya with a twinkle forming.

"You know, you never did tell me what your opinion of my seduction techniques was."

A half-smirk formed and Illya gave a small shrug.

"I can see where parts of it could have appeal, but I am afraid, tovarich, that you are simply not my type."

They paused their conversation briefly as the waitress delivered the coffee, tea and two generous slices of chocolate meringue pie. Illya took an experimental sip of the tea, then sighed in contentment.

"So - what is your type then?"

Illya inclined his head slightly to where their waitress was standing, taking another order.

"She very well could be."

"Umm. I sense a possible conflict of interest. She's my type as well."

Illya picked up his fork and dug into the pie before speaking. His tone was serious.

"No need for conflict, tovarich. I am not averse to sharing, you know."

Then Illya raised his eyes and they were bright with humor. Napoleon started laughing as he picked up his coffee cup and saluted with it.

"That's the thing I like best about you, partner mine. I'm always learning something new."


	16. Chapter 16

**Epilogue**

It was about six months later, that Illya came into Napoleon's office with a folder in one hand and a Danish in the other.

"This was an item from the general briefing we had yesterday."

Napoleon gave the folder a curious glance.

"Everything was pretty standard yesterday. I can't recall any standouts."

"Not so much an item as a side item, tovarich. You know scientists coming up in a briefing catches my attention. Re-read the details on Frank Roslin."

Taking the folder from Illya, Napoleon flipped it open and read the bullet details out loud.

"Frank Roslin. Last known location was Africa. Work on the area's cattle herds. Improved health of livestock. Improved milk production. Listed organizational connections: Alliance of Scientific Prodigies..."

"That is enough."

Taking another look at the paper, Napoleon looked back up to his partner.

"Still don't see what has your interest, partner. Scientific do-gooder. We generally encourage those."

"Remember our mad doctor?"

"Who could forget her?"

"One thing she was rather incensed about was the treatment of Rosalind Franklin's work on DNA research. Now - turn that name around and... as the doctor would say, give it a twist?"

"Okay. Franklin Rosalind... oh."

Even as he said it, Napoleon saw how close the two names were. Then he re-read the data again,

"Alliance of Scientific Prodigies. A.S.P.?"

Illya nodded.

"And do you know one thing of interest about asps?"

"Beyond their association with Cleopatra? Not really."

"They are known to eat birds."

Rising as he closed the folder, Napoleon reached over and put a hand on Illya's shoulder.

"Come on. Let's pass this on to Mister Waverly. We'll want to start getting together snake-bite kits for when that A.S.P. gets fat on a diet of T.H.R.U.S.H."


End file.
